Dressed in a lungi and a ganjee
Very privately before my little ones
As for my rehearsal
But to do in the lungi in cold countries
A challenging task,
So, if I get a chance anytime,
I shall before the same audience of mine
But in the shirt and pants
As because lungi will create fresh problems for me.
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The trucks passing through the highway
The trucks passing,PassingAnd the drivers drivingAnd drivingTaking wineAnd wine,Nothing but wine,Wine,Without food,Food in the stomach,O, how can it be?
Is allegorical, full of references
TennysonSometimes mimicking, sometimes parodying,But Swiftian in essence,A poet conventionalBut so differentJust like an islanderTelling of the islandsNot the colonies settled.A poet Donnian, PopianHe is more of the 18th centuryRather than the twentieth,Sarcastic and cuttingAcross the lines,Hope intermixesTo reproduceWith his remarks and judgementsIn an Australian presentation.
History is a record of
Recorded or unrecordedOr conjectured,History is in being historical,Archival, musicological,Historiographical.To dig the old things,To apply the spade work,Excavate and fumble uponAncient things of yoreIs history,Bringing out the thingsLying earthed.History is historyOf dynasties, clans and royal heredity,History in being historical,Of lost kingdomsAnd forgotten kings and queens,Life-times,Art, society, culture and administration.
As a poet of panchtattva,
With which the body is composed of,The elemental thingsWhich make it a body.
Today’s is a world of rhymers, poetastsers and petty poets,
Calling themselves poets,Small poets too not,Great poets,I mean the great poets of IndiaBut many a man have I seen,Many a scholarWho used to write beautifullyBut never called themselves poetsAs scholars they were no doubt,What does it make a differenceIf the edolence of the flowerPraised or not.
When as a schoolboy
The scavenger womenOn the short red-soiled wayGoing through the garbage heapGoing to dump the cans of human excretaSet over the wheelbarrowsDragged and pushed and drawn by themThe scavenger womenAnd I as a boy usedTo pass by speedilyAvoiding the foul smell and the green fliesHovering aroundBut they going to throw it out,Unload the dirt and soil…