I saw you

Into the hands of the hero,Who is an expert of judo, karate, boxing and kung-fu,The martial arts and fighting skills.Just for a girl, as for love at first sight, at first glance, he can do marvels,Can kick and fight with,The hero fighting with so many,From the slums turning into a capitalist,A big man,How can it…

Or the secluded placesTell ofA difficult timeGone by,The horror and terrorOf the T.B. patientsSuffering fromWith no hope for livingAnd the British doctors and nursesTaking care of,ServingWhere the people used toFear to go,Even the relativesOf the patientsPresuming a supposed to beContact withAnd the houses dilapidatedAnd fallingLying under the treesStill tell ofThe age gone by,The influx of…

Its history and movements,Reeling under the loomOf political ideologues and think-tanks,The pressures of the communist regimes,Where lies it bannedThe freedom of the press,The tongue under restraint,Freedom of speech and expression censured,Living under threat and pressure,The proletariat the masterBut how to do away with all thatColour in all,Red colour in allHistory, language, culture, song, choreography,Script, text…

Le me finish, let finish,One kept saying, another kept sayingBut who would,Who would have his say first?The debate took the shape of a quarrelAs both of them competed with as for the first sayAnd it was a disputed matter of courseBut thank God, somebody as the third person was thereTo come in between to compromiseAnd…

Where have I comeNow think IAs it is difficult to returnWhere have I?

IThe Gipsy GirlOn the platformSaw IThe gipsy, gipsy girlIn the gogglesGoing somewhereWaiting to catch the train, train,The gipsy, gipsy girl.IIA Tryst With Miss BurqawalliA Lover of Dark RoseOn the platformSaw I the burqawalliIn hidingGoing over the foot bridge,The railway fly overJust like a ghost,A shadow or an imagery.The coy mistressGoing over the foot bridge,Stepping, stepping…

How to nurse the wounds of love,Nurse and bandage them?A lover or a poet am I,What am I?I wandering to and fro,Trying to forget what it has happened to,Trying to make understand,Trying to see the pathway flowers,Playing with the children,Marking their innocence and simplicity,I passing my timeTo deviate and divert myself,To digress from,Trying to close…

I mean the learners,Dressed and made upAnd after seeing them, forget I my poetryAnd start thinking about their performing art,Trough dancingThey saying it allWith their poses and postures in movement,Expressions of sorrow and happiness,Expressing through signs and symbols,Rhythmic movement and break-up of limbs.Just like puppets, the old puppet dances of IndiaAnd the artistes making it…

Were you a Bihari politicianOr a diplomat,An economistOr a royal advisor,A political scientistOr a Brahmin Sanskritist?

The ChandipathaIn the glory ofDevi Durga.The autumnal timeWith the white kash bloomsAnd the mist-laden seulisTelling of the change in time,The harvesting timeAnd commemoration of festivity.The idol-makers busy withMaking the statues ofDurga, Mahishasura, Lakshmi,Saraswati, Kartika, Ganesha.The idol-maker carving outAnd sketching the eye,The eye of Bhababati.

In the search of the animal,How much dear and own had they been one day,Think you?Gadhei jo ab paayei nahi jaateiUnki khoj mei mere din katatei nahi,Jaanwar ki khoj meiKabhi wei kitanei apnei theie,Sochiye to jaraa?

Free, liberal,Make you it notTurn intoA multi-ethnic, multi-racial countryFraught with communal frenzyAnd riots.

Liked I the town life and living,Sung I the love songs on the waysBut felt I disgusted with,My hair turned it white and started falling down,Nay brown-brown and grey, coloured-coloured,Natural colour vanished itAnd I fell short of becoming an English man,A European or a WhiteWith the golden brown hair.Again from there, changed I myself,Turned into…

Golden voice taking me,Taking me far away,Leonard,Leonard Cohen,I with,With the melody and tuning,Musical tuning of yoursA God-gifted,Really a God-gifted organ voice,Frankly speaking,Speaking Leonard cohen,Leonard,Your song,Song and voice,Golden voice,Leonard,Leonard!

Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained,A poet with a massive planFor a literary workOf a vast cosmology,Epical and classical,Profound and elegant,Latinized and sublime.The Temptation and the Fall of ManFrom Paradise lured him mostTelling of the Primeval Sin of ManWhich led for his Fall from Heaven,A rebel or a religious fellow,Who was he?

I just see her and think about.So sparkling and so twinkling,The glitter taking on!

And he telling aboutThe temples of Orissa,Art and culture,History and languageAnd the coastal areaAnd its geography,The cities and towns of it,The anthropological villages of it.An Odia heTells he about Cuttack, Bhubaneswar,Balsore, Puri,Konark, Dhauli,The rivers, hills and forests of itAnd above all, the dark villages of itBurning in heat,Dusted and ruffled withPoverty, illiteracy, underdevelopment,Superstition, backwardness,Fatalism and…

The things of your ownAnd from the word style comes it the word stylist,Standing for one who uses and applies modernistically.Your style, my style, his style or her style,Be it their style,But it is never the sameAs for approach, attitude not,But for the manner he takes to deliberation.The stanzas and their patterns,The starting and the…