Hari Om,

Sitting with the folded handsNear the temple pillarsAnd reciting, Om namah shivay, om namah shivay, om namah shivay.The bells ringing, ringing in the pagoda,The hearts purgingAnd the devotee in a dhyana whispering,Om namah shivay, om namah shivay, om namah shivay.Shiv, Shiv, Shiv,Shiva, Shiva, Shiva, Shiva I, I Shiva,Shiva Shiva, I I,Om namah shivay.

He received his educationIn JapanBut was posted at Dehradun.Was he a Sikh,A Hindu?Was he a scientistOr a poet?A Punjabi writerOr an English writerOr both?Was he a knowerOf many languages?A Sikh historianWriting the historyOf the Sikhs and Sikhism?A believer in Guru Nanak,He was a pious SikhDevout and righteous.

My love.I saw the girl and fell in loveAs such had been sheMy love,Coming to me as a dream,Going she as a dream,Some dream girl indeedWhich my eyes couldn’t believe it.O my God, return me, my love,O my God, how beautiful is she,My sweetheart,My heartthrob,The throb of my heart,You steal it not!

And wide,How,HowTo rear you,My love,My daughter?In the worldWhere nobody strivesTo knowWhat it marauds your self,What it hurts your sentimentsNobody cares to,My daughter.

The mind is screen like,Sometimes it figures on,Sometimes gets deleted from.With a lime chalk pencil in handI thinking aboutWhat to write on, what not,The matters from the mind to the heartTo transcripts on the blackboard.But human error ever ready to creep in,Human error, technical error,A slip of pen or pencil,Typographical error, clerical mistake,But how to…

Nor will Gandhigiri.Mahatma Gandhi amar rahe, amar rahe,Mahatma Gandhi ki jai, Mahatma Gandhi ki jai.Gandhi has died,But his Gandhism will not,Nor will Gandhigiri.

Why do you not reveal,Where do you live,In which world,Are you a lover, a burglar or an anti-social,Are you trying to get information from?If you do not have money, you may take,But give not the missed calls and cut it notAfter ringing, calling,Asking to call back indirectly,But the problem isSometimes the loafers when rang back,Say…

The trainCurving,Changing track ofThe train coming,Signalled redTo divertAs for to trespassCurving,Changing track of,The train crossing overTo another trackChugging on the rails,Whistling and going,Going and passing throughCrossing over to, changing over to.

Was destroyedBy the fundamentalistsAnd fanaticsFor whomReligion was allThan the countryAnd its people.

Falling sort ofCalling himThe father of modern Indian poetry in EnglishIs but a poster boy,A poster boy of modernismPosting and pastingThe placardsOf modernismTo display.Modernism it was thereBefore him,Still it is,But instead ofWe keep callingOut of ignorance,What modernism is aboutIn reality,When has it startedAnd who has,None knows itBefore saying?Had the radio, the watch, the cinema,The theatre,…

neither you can beNor I can beThough a man he wasThe same manWhom you see everyday.What wrong has it doneThat you are against itWith your supposition and proposition?Had he not freed slaves,Would you have been happy?Talk with some sense,Never talk you nonsensically.

Once upon a time you used to issueFake and fraud certificates and degrees,Just emulating them,But now-a-days the degrees are o.k.,Registered for and taken reallyBut through unfair means.I mean they have the valid degreesAnd they have after being students,But have opened notes and have copied down,The valid degreesBut written under the tree shadeOf the franchisee centreOf…