ducking in
and out
from the shell,
a small creature
with the head
like that of a snake,
but not a viper,
but a turtle.
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What it disturbs us most in new Indian Enlglish poetry is this that
After doing their Ph.Ds. onThe small-small things of Indian Englsih poetryStart calling themselves poets and critics, essayists and reviewers.Is it not a laughing matter that the small scholar registered on Indian poetryUnder a small ragged supervisor of substandard poetry,After doing his or her Ph.D. copiouslyCalling a glittering star of the firmamentOf the Indian Englsih poetry…
Bhasha kya hain,
Lipi kya hain,Akshara hain.Bhasha kya hain,Shabda hain,Shabdon she panktiyan,Lipi kya hain,Akshara hain,Aksharon she varnamala.
My karma, my dharma,
What it awaits me?
Say, say you,
How did, baba,Allauddin KhanTeach you,Teach youThe sitar,How did, how did, Baba,Training you in sitar?
The asthi-kalasha is, but the mother not,
Yesterday had been she here, but not today,Where, where has she gone away?Opening the door this lonely midnight, what am I?What am I viewing?