And it is not in the books,
One’s innocence and ignorance
Combined with a great simplicity of own.
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A young girl,
And if she comes to not,I shall turn into a sadhuWith the long beardsComing from the ashrama.
You call me a poet,
And our hidden strategy and agendaLet it be a top secretAnd lest it be known,The crows will spoil the thingsAfter crowing around the mynah’s nestsWith the eggs.
This too is a fact
And had they,They would have been great writersOf the world,Be sure of it.Mark it,Even a wild bloom has beautyWhich but we know it not,Do the fireflies have not,Are the clusters of wild palash blooms not so?
The night of marriage anniversary,
Sati-Uma’s houseWith the band and party of hisWith the tigers, bears and monkeys dancingAnd playing with,The weird winds howling byWith the goblins, ghosts and spirits.The groom seated on a bull,The winds howling by,The ghosts and spirits frolicking,Monkeys and bearsAll in his party.Shiva going, going to the bride’s homeAnd Nature too appearing playful,The brutes and beasts…
Poetry of life,
Is only importantAnd none the else,If life is then there is the worldAnd if earth is then there is life,If not how to think of poetry?
Under the tirnaga
In rows,Stood they up,The flag was pulledBorderedSaffron,WhiteAnd green,The middle whiteWith the Ashok ChakraThe flag went upTo the pole mast,The thread strungAnd the sling opened itWith a plethora of petals,Flower petals scattering over.Saluted we,The incense sticks burnt it,Flowers were offered toTo the dais with the flag-post,The song was sung,Jana gana mana mangal…,Some remembered it,Some seemed to…