A therapist,
A social activist,
Polish-Polish
Near the German borders,
A writer German not,
But a Polish writer
Of exotic flora and fauna
Telling the tales,
Fables,
Taking to the Poland
Of oracles and soothsaying,
Of a herbalist, a naturalist,
A primitivist.
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Poverty,
I know it?The moon shining throughThe patchesof the straw-thatched cottage.Poverty,I know it,What is poverty.Poverty can make youWeep internally,Poverty is but the second name of misery.
If you have money in your pocket,
If you do not have, the world is not yours.Did you understand,Did you understand, gentleman?
The highway
So devastated and distraughtLeading to ruin and spoil,The highway horrible and terribleOutwardly looks it smoothAnd leadingBut quite misleading is it,So unbelievable and disastrousThe highwayLuring and devastating.
The lions were being injured,
Or were starving,You were,Were not even aware of all thatHappening into the forestsOf Gir,May be it a resultOf infighting,May be it the negligenceOn the part of officialsOr animal keepersWhatever may be it!
The rights of a man
To a man,Give them,Take it away solely.A man think youFor a man,A human beingHe too his rightsTo live and think.
Gandhi,
Or a bad man,How to say it?Was he good,Was he bad,But a man was heSurelyWith the meritsAnd demerits of ownWhich but every man has.Gandhi and his relevancePosterity will say it,For what was he,Lived he.If Gandhi’s statuesAre pulled down,Gandhigiri will remain it here.The loafers and hippies will definitelyNot forget his legacyAs romanticism and modernismAll has been…