Dalit girl calling,

As he used to edit a literary journal,Again asked he to call himA glittering star of the poetic firmamentAnd called IThough was not.His words seemed to be bombasticFalling short of exploding,Verbose and ornamental,Artificial and jewelled,A poetatster he was,A rhymer,A non-poet and a commonerMaking a tryst with Indian Englsih verse writing.

Of the street theatres, nukkad sabhasOr the people doing panchayitiAs spokespersons, protagonists, mouthpiecesOf protests and movements, peace movementsBut over continued, overdid they in acting,Protesting and staging of the dramaShowing the facades of liberty and people’s charters,Constitutionalism and constitution-makingBut got they trapped in party and politics,Political ideologies and fascinations,Rather than lingering they must have come toThe…

That, that had beenOur last,Last meeting?Who,Who couldThat,That was ourLast,Last meeting?And,And met weFor,For the last time?

DuringThe twilightWith the coats,Streaks of black and whiteOver the grayish fur.

Jab tak hae shash tab tak hae aash.Is said,Shadow has no illusion,As long as there is respiration there is hope.

Do not, do not weep you,I am, I am with you, with you, brother,Do not, do notAs I cannot, cannot see, see you in tears!And the singer stopped he from weeping,Breaking down inconsolably,Wiping out the tears himselfWith his hands and torn shirt and pantsWhich after seeing it I could not check myselfAs Rama wept for…