Bob Dylan,

And Mr.Conservative the grand dad.

Swearing in the name of God,Say,Say you,Gandhi badAnd you good,Good?

Rustic jesters or courtly bards.

As the house not her peripheryTo draw the Lakshamanrekha for her,A housewife with the broomstick threatening,Doing politics and blackmailing her simple husband,A homemaker not but a destroyerAs to be a feminist her first priority.A villagerly quarrelsome wife not, but an overambitious wife,Trespassing Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Macbeth and Portia,A Delilah, a Lamia is she,So dangerous and…

Playing the been,Wooden been musicAnd the snakes,SnakesVenomous snakesDancing,DancingTo the tune of,Melodies breaking,BreakingAnd engulfingThe area.And the cobras,CobrasHooded and hissingStanding,Standing and swaying,Swaying to the tune of,Tune of the been musicMelodious and haunting,The cobras,Whitish, Blackish and greyishVenomous and fatal.

Stitched and re-stitched,Dream children of Partition,India being partitionedAnd they seeing,The ragged and the commonersWith so much bewilderment and disgust.

In tears?How can,How can it be,Syrian, Syrian daughter?

Poetry is a dead art,A postmortem of emotion and feeling.What can poetry give toBarring thought and idea?Can it life-saving drugs?

He the Acharya’s, Indian astrologer,Horoscope-makers’ sonSelling certificates and degreesOf distance and open boards and varsities,Looking out for probable customers,CustomersWith which he hasA double-storey marvellous building,What will you takeMatric, H.S., B.A. M.A.Or Ph.D,What do you want,Want, sir,Matric, H.S., B.A., M.A.Or DoctorateFrom open, distance learningSchools and varsitiesAnd even from regular deemed varsitiesOr full-fledged onesWherever there lies the…

As Indian EnglishAnd if it is, say you,Where is it spoken,Whose mother tongue is it,Who an EnglishmanIn IndiaAnd even if one isWill turn dark-skinnedAfter living over the yearsIn utter disgustFacing heat and dust,Will have to resort toVyom Bhole ShankarAfger smoking ion ganjaFrom chilumLike the mendicant?

In the wild,The dog-like hyenaSo swift and proud,Going for a kill,To preyAnd pounce uponOr lie in wait for.The hyena,Hyena,Dog-like wild animal,Carnivore of the forestRunning so swiftly,Searching for prey and killAs its food.

As if I kissed a flower.The petals so soft and tender,So dreamy and imaginativeAnd so fanciful,Lovely and attractive.It was my impression of youWhich brought me close youAnd kissed I.After kissed I, tears welled up inInto the lustrous eyesAnd you held the hand,Asking to be truthful to love.

Which but know you, which but know I,Which but I cannot,As it happens, happens in love,Stealing the moon, I shall go sitting behind the church.The moon shining above and we behind the churchTalking, lost in the thoughts of ours,The fair, fine and silvery fresh moon shining up above,The moonshine-bathed the world,The moonlit ways and the…

I turn to you,Turn to you,Dark daughterFor comfort and solace,For solace and comfortWhenever sad and sombre,Sad and sombre,Broken and frustrated in life!

And The Waste Land,A poet inclined to Buddhism,Indian vision and wisdom,Western and allegorical,Symbolical and mythicalAnd mystical.Conversational in style,It is imagistic and symbolicalA heap of broken ideas and dreams,Falling images,A poem of resurrection and rejuvenation,Rebuilding and reconstruction.A poem of loss and fall,Totter and shattering of dreams,The desire to rebuild, reconstruct the images,The Waste Land is a…

Were you a Bihari politicianOr a diplomat,An economistOr a royal advisor,A political scientistOr a Brahmin Sanskritist?

I know it not,The unseen fate,The unseen destiny of mine,What it in my karma,What it in my dharma?My karam-dharam,I am going withMy karam-dharam,And the restInto the Hands of His,The MasterWho knows it all.

Ma, ma, ma, your son,They have tunred into an addictAnd the mother weeping,Tears faliing down the cheeks,O, God, who to help?Even You come to not when call we urgently.O, my son has turned into an addict, an adict,The good boy spoilt he himself,Has turned!The drug-peddlers, liquor-men, ganjeris, bhangeris and daru-taken,All of them his friends now,Not…

Shiva-bhaktas moving,Moving all around,Shiva and I, Shiva and I,I and Shiva, I and Shiva,Shiva and I, Shiva and I,Shiva Shiva, I I,Shiva I, I Shiva,Shiva I, I Shiva,Shiva Shiva, I I.Bhaktas, Shiva-bhaktas,Shiva-bhaktas moving,Movingat night,During the dayInto the crematorium ground,By the stream,Taking acrobatic skills.Bhaktas as sanyasins, asbhaktasLiving half-fed, half-clothedOn fruitsAnd veg. foodRoaming,Roaming and viewing the worldWith…

Not to call himself a prophetGood thoughts,Good wordsGood deedsThe open-winged birdWith a bearded manWith a ring in his left hand,What is he telling?The Guardian AngelWith a circleIndicating endless cycleNeither with a beginning nor with an end,A small ring in the handsFaith and loyalty.

How to paint the imagesOf her dark rupa,The face divine?The Dark Goddess,Goddess Kali,How the lila of hers,How the images of hersAnd she doing the lila?The Dark Divine,How the images,How the paintings of hers,How the forms and figuresOf delving artistically?Somewhere as Kamakhya,Vaishno Devi,Somewhere as Ma Tara,Cchinnamasta,Somewhere as Sarbamangala,Kalighat Kali.Somewhere as Chamunda Devi,Tartarini,Somewhere as Vimala,Dakshineswar,Somewhere as Attahas,Kripamayi.Somewhere…

As haven’t you heard,Heard,Dark is beautiful,Dark is beautiful?Kali is dark,Dark the myths of CreationAnd the universe,Dark the mythsMuffled in mystery,What it is dark, let it be,Let it be dark.Dark is beautiful,Dark is beautiful,Haven’t you,Haven’t you heard,Heard it,Dark the myths of CreationAnd the world?What it is dark, let it be,Let it be dark,Dark is dark,Dark the…

Labour party supporter,The son of a railway employee,A Welsh man,A War joiner,A professor,A critic,A pamphleteer,How to take to himDiscussing his theory of culturePutting it aside fromThose given by Arnold and Eliot,Exploring the relationshipIn between literature, language and societyHe searched for meaning,What culture really stood for,What helped it in redlining,Could it be in the lack of…

Burning with hatred, malice and vengeance,Animosity, revengeThe religious crusaders are they,The medievalist peopleSuperstitious and uncultured,Uncultured and uncivilized.The religiously-blind people, mad after and crazy,We mean the bigots, zealots,Fanatics and fundamentalistsTurned human haters and bombers.

Falling in love madlyAnd leaving out in a huff?But my friend, the hand you hold, take a hold of firmly,Let it not go,Just, just think about the poor girlAnd poor love and her poor heart,Just think you.Tears are more precious than your assets and wealth,Let it not fall.

Dancing and saying,Happy, happy new yearTo you, to you,I in the hatWith a flowerInto the handsSmelling,Smelling and dancingAll alone,Rollicking,Rocking and gliding,Gliding and dancingIn rhythmAt the beat of,Pace of musicAnd its beatsIn a shayarana andazThrilling and rockingThe stage,I rollicking and rocking,A disco dancer,A disco dancer,A shayarA shayarIn a shayarana andaz.The balloons hanging,Hanging by,Firecrackers burstingMildly,The music loudAnd…

blue, blue,blue, blue,eyes,eyes, eyes,blue, bluetaking me,taking me,me far,far, far,far fromyour,your glue, blueeyes, eyes,your blue, blueeyes, eyesmy love,love,your,your blue,blue, blue eyes,your blue,blue, blue eyes,the girl,girl sitting,sitting withthe blue, blue eyes,blue-blue…

Indian English poetryBarring myth and mysticism?When was it not,When is it not?Indian English poetry is nothingIf not with myth and mysticism.Religion, spirituality,Myth, mysticism,The talks of the common,But how much religious are theyI do not know it.

Which know you not,Know I it.The light I have, that is actually yoursAnd borrowing from you,Call I it my ownOtherwise am not so talentedAs think you.The light which is in meIs in you too,You just try to see.When see I my small daughter standing before,Think I what have i in me,Have the innocence of hersAnd…

Are you you,Are youPlaying the guitar,Strumming and strumming,Strumming it soulfully,Dylan, Dylan,Bob DylanIn reminiscent ofThe masters acknowledgedOr unacknowledgedof the musical traditionCarried farOver the years?

Say you not,Happy,Happy new yearPikar daru,Deshi or videshi,Native and local or foreign liquorAs daru is daru,Wine is wine.

Inducted into the body corpusOf poetry,A poet of the dark journey of oblivion,Shadowy presence,The ships sailing not with the cargoesOn board,But souls and spirits boardedPlunging into the dark watersOf the oceanGoing to an unknown destinationA poet casual and eventual,He has taken to poetryCasually, nay seriouslyAnd his poetry appear as versesIn loose sheets,Scribbled offhandedlyAs loose overflows…

The pulsation of my heartWho is none but she passing out.My heart beats it whenver seeI passing her,The heart beat of my soul,The abnormal fluctuation of my heart,Oh, how to desribe the aches of mine!

How far Leh Ladakh?How the placesLeh and Ladakh,How the people of,How the climate, food habit,Costume and cultureOf the people,Local hilly people?If somebody could tell meHow far Leh Ladakh,How the place,The sights and scenery of it,The panorama of Nature?I knowI shall not be able to visitThose fringes,The far off Himalayan sectorTouching Tibet, China and far,Had I…

Okay,But what,What these to doWith violent demonstrations,Arson and bootyAnd thuggerySetting on fire and runningFor cover and shelter?Under the pretext of all these,The politicos will come light,Get the media coverage,Will turn into spokesmen overnight,National heroesAs this is the time ofMaking a name free of costWithout striving for.What this nonsense for,What this hooliganism,ThuggeryAnd booty,Where are they going,What…

In the blazing month of Baisakh,Akshay Tritiya,The day to start with,To do the bargainWith gold, silver nor other things,To forward in relations,To bring in hope,Rekindle some expectation?Under the blazing hotOf the summertime of Baisakh,In mid-April,How to feel the importance of it,Feel the bounty of LakshmiAnd the blessings of VishnuIn Akshay Tritiya,Giving food to stray animalsOr…

Or together with them?Black is beautiful,The nocturnal night of sadhna,An experimentation with the supernatural,The thing unknowable,Just can be feltWhich is but not own.And they testing your sadhna,Just hold onto your courage,Fear not,It is not easy to comprehendThe things of Nature and Creation.

Yea, without knowing them, in my all ignorance,I called myself a poet, not a small poet, but a great poet,Asking them to write papers onAnd collecting on me,Praising for to be included inAs reviewers and critics.But something pricked it my conscience, in seeing them,The flowers blooming and fading into the woods,On the pathways,When none but…

By being in their contact,The kaaminis blooming and falling overAnd I marking the night go,So mystically fragrant,The blooms so redolent and fine.Where to go if she too is not,Has not come back?I under the tree sleeping and passing the nightDreaming of Lost loveComing to me as Night Queen.

I warn againstAs the consequences will be disastrousFor bothIndia and China.

Applying the cosmeticsA heroine behind the curtainBefore the mirrorDressing and decorating herselfA persona colourfulAnd impressive.

Rama is in the heart,Have you seen Him,First see then say?Where do you search me?I am in your heart,Said it.Rama is in the heart.