The Formless Brahma.
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Shakuntala
Coy and simpleVedic village girl,A daughter BrahminicalAnd Upanishadic,Aryan and ruralAnd naturalOf the sacred space!Shakuntala,ShakuntalaInto the Vedic hermitageSo gracious and chasteTelling the tale ofHer womanhood,The struggle of giving nameTo her son,Getting recognition fromA forgetful king!A dramatic personaSlim and beautiful,A hermitage characterVedic and classical,Upanishadic and PuranicDodged by an Indian kingForgetful of marriage,Failing to recognizeHer!
Banalata Sen,
Searching you,Banalata SenGoing deepInto the pages of history,The myths of beauty,Beauty and love.Are you a poet’s imaginationOr a king’s princessOr a nautch girl?Are you a celestial damselOr an artistic imaginationOr a girl post-modern?
The Mallas,
Bishnupur,Who,who were they,Kshatriyas or Bagdis upgraded,The Mallas,The Mallas of Mallabhum,Bishnupur?The Singhs,Singh Thakores of Bishnupur,The Mallas of Mallabhum,The Mal tribes peopleOr the KshatriyasWith forts and terracotta templesAnd potteries?
It is not that your political philosophy interests me,
Movement to the U.S.S.R. and Mexico and China as for your training,But your personal life,Want I to read you,Your marriage with the foreigners,The brides from afar,The white brides and the conservative society of the then timesAnd its reactionsOn being with them.Manbenda Roy, I am interested not at all in your political philosophy,But the leaves from…
The art of the satirist
The art of satireIn pursuance toIts fulcrum.The art of satireNoneBut the satirist knows,None but the satirist.Attacking, boxing, showing fists,Full of personal enmity, hatred, malice, vengeance,Jibe, slander, vehemenceOr rivalry brewing.
Takes me back
And ChinaWith its monasteries,Glaciers,Wild flowersAnd alpine foresters,KanchenjungaSeen throughGangtok Ropeway,Pemayangtse Monastery,Lachung Monastery,Yamthang Monastery,The Yumthang Valley.
Nirgun Brahma.
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When I saw it at midnight
A poisonous snake was itSo rapid and fast,Slippery and sliding,Looking like a banded krait.Striped and black,Hair stood onTo see the reptileBlackly and glidingAnd coiling beneathMaking the night ferociousAnd fearsomeAnd I overcautious in steppingFearing to moveOn the grassy patchTo come out of the house.A deadly and venomous snake was itTrying to hide or escape,Slipping, trailingAnd gliding,Shining…
What it is in my heart, I want to say to you
Will you come and sit by to listen to me?
Chhayavad in Hindi poetry
English romanticism and Indian mind and philosophySeconded by a personal noteOf sadness and lyricism.Chhayavad personal and pessimisticJust like oil paintings and silhouettes,But where did the spirit come from,Surely would haveUnder the impact of British education?
Poetry will not cease it,
As long as life is there,This green earth is.Poetry will not cease it,Will continue to be writtenTill man is on this green earthOf bio-diversity.Man will come and go,Poetry too will be written soAfter this or that poet takes toFor a dabbling in verse.
My poetry
But the critic is not.My poetryIn search of a critic desperatelyBut the critic is missing.
Romantic poetry
Beauty and vision,Dream and sensation,Sense and sensibility.