Badi mon karecche

Of MJIn my poetry,The dance of the King of Pop.Can anyone break and singAnd dance like himMoon walkingSometimes boyish-boyish,Sometimes girlish-girlish?

The hamlets and thorps awaking and arising fromWith thin wrappers over the bodyShivering with cold and coming out into the golden sunshine to bask.

Passing,Passing throughWith the turbaned merchantsfrom farTaking the long animals,The hump-backed camelsWith a curvy structureGoing slowly.

Wanting to be a heroSearching black gold and black money,Where does it lie inHidden,Earthed?

Palestine and Israel,How long will itContinueTowing theMuslim lineAnd the Judaic?

Socialist or communist,Humanist or not,But a rebel and a revolutionary no doubt?A goldsmith from the PunjabAnd a Ph.D. from England,Anand meeting Gandhi in the Sabarmati AshramaTo re-write the versionOf his popular novel.A novelist of the have-nots and the under-dogs,The proletariat and the downtrodden mass,He writes under the red bannerWith the star, hammer, sickle and wheat…