Yea, a White belle and a beauty
In a white sari?
Who, who is she, a foreigner lady in a sari,
A sadhvi of some guru ashrama,
An American lady teaching yoga,
Who, who the lady?
Is she Sister Nivedita of Vivekananda or Mira of Aurobindo
Or the white European girl accompanying Mahatma Gandhi,
You tell me, just tell me?
A foreigner in India, how will she beat the heat and dust
Of the Indian summer,
An English, a European girl of the foreign cold climes,
O, how, how will she live her!
Rearing,Growing with experiencesThat life taught you,In harsher conditions of life,Working in various capacities,We talk about,Talk about,Carl Sandburg,Your life and poetry,Your free-verse style,Your booksWe do remember,YourChicago Poems,Your biography of Abraham Lincoln,Your anthologyAmerican Songbag!
The disc jockeyIn imitation of beat and rhythm,The radio jockeyA remix of the old-time anchorOr call it announcerAnd the latest Hinglish speaker,Speaking half-English, half-HindiJokingly breaking the language.
I could not beWhat I had wanted,The desire of becoming a man at leastCould not be fulfilled.What became I, mattered it not,What I have become-This pains me often to feel,How inhuman have I grownOver the passing years,This cruel passage of time.I too had wanted to be a man,A man in need of another man,But sorry…
With my father, mother, brother and sister.Where have they gone away,I see them not?Can you tell me?
Stitches and jointsTo make it look like the faded jeans.The colour faded it not,But we made it look soAs for becoming, tired of modernity, ultra-modernAnd hence looking for a way outAnd as a result of that,The face looks wrinkled even in spiral days,The young girl looks oldAnd the old looks young.Where have we come to,Where…
Away from their lands,To be shisyas here,The foreigner shisyas of Indian gurus,I mean the ashramites,I just want to ask them,Does their guruhood permit itTo make their homes and familiesBreak and disintegrate?
