Talk to me,
The wayfarers
From far-off lands,
The aliens
With the UFOs
Coming to
And when intercepted
Mutter they
The aliens
The travellers
From far,
Far off lands.
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Poetry to Jayanta is a study
Light and darkness,The history of lightAnd reflection,Light reflecting,Dazzling and glistening,Falling uponAnd flashing.The history of lightAnd with lightThe history of creation,Sound,The break of soundWith the cock-crow and dawn break,The lotus bloomingIn the fresh sunlight.
The Gurkhas,
Cow protectors,Baba GorakhnathTo the Nepali kings,Nepali-speaking peoplesTaking to the Himalayan kingdomAnd places.The Gorkhas,The Nepalis,The Gurkha Regiment,The Gurkha with the rifle,The Gurkha kukri,The Gurkha hat,The Gurkhas in the British ArmyFighting overseas,Participating in World Wars.The Gurkha military man,The restauranteur,The private security staffer,The Gurkha chowkidar, pahradarGuarding during the night,Working as a night guardTaking me to Gorkhaland,The land of…
Don’t,
BreakMy heart,MyHeartAs I am,IAmSo weak,So weak,My love,MyLove,Don’t,Don’tBreak,BreakMy heart,Heart,My love,Love,It is you,It is youWhomI love,I love youSo,So, so much,So much,My love,Love!
I myself a morgue man
Searching my dead bodyAfter the autopsy.
Is it Jayanta Mahapatra’s
The ghost of Thomas GrayHaunts him here.Thomas Gray’s owl,Jayanta Mahapatra’s lizard and scorpion.
I think,
Poor wife and poor children,How does he come drunk and in tipsy,Intoxicated and drunken,Unable to stand on feet?
Bobby,
Your image,
Image in my poetry.
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Swami Vivekananda never wanted to be a poet
Saints are singers,The singers of the Divine,Telling of sanyasa, leaving of homes,Becoming of saints,Cutting the bonds of maya-moha,Taking to renunciationThat is vairagya.But Swamiji is first of all an Advaita VedantistBelieving in Advaita Vedanta,A griha-tyagi, home-leaverHe is but a sanyasin,A saint, a renouncer,A vairagiAnd above all a philosopher saintOf IndiaLearned and poetical.
The street for whom
Means drama underThe open spaceFor staging outdoor playsNukkad natak,Street shows, theatrical performancesBy the showman, the pantomime artistOf one sort or anotherGenerally, leftists, socialistsStage it street plays,The people communistic,Marxistic, Leninistic, StalinisticThe street play with a purpose,A concern social, societalOr economic or ideologicalOr of a political stand.
A poet of the freedom of speech and expression
As sing I of liberty.
Malik Muhammad Jaysi,
You telling with a parrot and a Rajput princess!Your PadmavatWritten in a Sufiana andaz,Why to debate and discuss historical facts?A Pir, a Sufi saintYou saw India, HinduismAnd tried to mingle it with Islam!Jayasi, your PadmawatAn epic historicalWith the Rajput princess of Rajpuatana!The princess of Chittor,The Rajput queen PadmavatiExquisitely beautiful.Oh, ravishingly beautiful PadmavatiWhose glimpseAlauddin would have…
A writer of near about fifty collections of poems am I,
Have been sidetracking me for quite a long time,Negating and ignoring me,So many locally brought out collections have I,Even worked I on the history of Indian English poetryAt my own expenses,Strenuous study took a heavy toll upon my healthBut left I not writing poetry.
What does the word
The word,CabaretTransporting usInto a world ofSong, dance, romance and comedy,Wining and diningWith the tables set forFor a partyOr diningOr at the tavernShe serving and singing thereafter.But definitely an adult songAnd danceAnd performance,A colourful showWith the good dish,Good entertainment,They playingTo give you enjoymentAnd pleasure,The cabaret dancers,Cabaret singers,Cabaret artistes.
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Talk to me,
Those from Mars
Taking their mysterious flights,
Faltering and deviating sometimes,
Hanging onto.
I talk to them,
Aliens,
Those distant travellers
From Mars,
The strange guests
From the moon and other planets,
Heavenly bodies
Appearing bizarre and grotesque.
The distant travellers,
Strange guests from far,
Heavenly bodies
And planets,
Aliens,
Bizarre and grotesque aliens
Talking and whispering
The mystery of life and the world.
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These are nay the leaves of grass,
The transmigratory, transcendental soulSo visionary, so dreamy.
Nautch Girl, did you turn into stone
The bells broke they looseAnd beauty too faded itIn the passage of timeOr the courtiers plotted and conspired againstIn their lust and treachery?
Indian astrologer
of India,Indian babajia love babaji,both of themfrauds and cheats,Indian astrologerand Indian babaji,exclusively for moneyand love.
Had George Bernard Shaw been a poet,
His anti-thesis,How would he have his talks,Thoughts and ideas,An anti-romantic, a realist,A socialist and a democrat?
Aurobindo, in your love for Mira Alfassa,
You Mrinalinidevi,Your Mrinalinidevi.Have you ever tried to knowThe heart of your Mrinalinidevi,If had not to live with,Why did you marry herTo be a saint is not to not desert her,Leave her alone?
I saw Shiva in the padmashana
And lost in meditationWith the damru, the kamandala,The trisulaAnd meditatingLike a yogi.,A sadhu,A fakira.Neelkantha,Mahadeva,Shiv-ShankaraWith the snakeRounded aroundThe blue neck,Sitting in a yogic postureAnd meditatingWith the crescentOn the foreheadAnd the three ash-lines.The Ganges flowingFrom his matted locks,Lost in his sadhnaMeditatingWith the Third Eye,Losing with the musical murmurOf the flowing watersSo rapt in dhyanaAnd with the rudraksha…