A poem of exit,

Who has what,Who can but say it,Why not to make white blackAnd black whiteWhich is but a matter of colourAs they know it notBlack and white, white and blackJust coloursAnd we cannot without one?Wherever go we, there people keepTalking about,Black money, white money,White money, black money,Where is that hidden treasure,In some old buildingOr in some…

Dovetailing and stitching,Even stealing others’ propertiesTo call yourself a poetess.

And the teardrops,Teardrops spilledThe eye-lids,Eye-lidsSplashing,Splashing the eye-lashes,Eye-lashesUnder the open skies,Open skiesFull of stars,Twinkling starsWiping,Wiping my tears,Hiding,Hiding from the worldWith my hands,My hands.

The discourse of YamaAnd the Mrityunjay Japa,Death-conquering Mantra, Recitation,The use of sanjivani buti for Lakshmana,But can death be conqueredAs none has come back, returnedAs per Goutam Buddha sermon.

Talk I, sketch IThe portrait of that PresidentWho was more humanAnd republican.A karmayogiHe delivered and worked,Abolished slavery,Worked for the American unionBridging the North and the South.

Matir dehaKiser abhimaan?Clay’s body,What to pride over?