Centuries and centuries ago,
The place I am standing upon?
Is the earth a burial and a burning ground
As the place I am standing upon
There burnt a body long and long ago?
Which but know I not, which but see I not,
Into the deadland live I,
Standing on a plot and piece of land
Where my house is,
There too had been a house in the past,
Long, long ago.
I want ot pledge before,Calling a lawyerAnd making a draft of itAs per my will and testamentThat it be giftedTo a poetry societyAnd if not, these be kindly keptIn a museumAs for put on display,After breathe I my last.
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.
Tweeting thereAnd hear I not the twitters of love,Just the mechanical men tweeting about their technical stuffs,Tools and apprenticeships.Modern and mechanical peopleTalking about industrialization, urbanization and modernity,Modern and post-modern,The air-conditioned car, fridge, cooler,Beauty parlour, cosmetics, gems and jewellery,Astrology, assets and employment opportunities,Proud possessions, pomp of power and glory,Middle class hypocrisy, aristocratic birth and living,Cinematography, painted…
Man a puppet into the hands of Destiny,So helpless and hopeless.
The farm houseAnd hearThose,Those sparrowsTwittering,TwitteringComing nearer to,So chirpy, so twittersomeAnd I,I hearing them,ThemAfterA long time,Time,Sparrows,Those sparrows!
Of undaunted sacrifice and oath-takingAnd standing by word and moralityAs shown in the character of KarnaThe disowned child of KuntiFused with the high-pitching poesyOf Dinkar.
