A metallic fresco
Or the statue cast in silver
Looking so beautiful
Hidden with the red hibiscus flowers!
With the tongue out of the lips
And a big nose-ring,
Mother looking gleeful
Among the red hibiscus flowers
Offered to during prayers.
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Under the moonlit nights,
The poems of love.
Banalata Sen,
Searching you,Banalata SenGoing deepInto the pages of history,The myths of beauty,Beauty and love.Are you a poet’s imaginationOr a king’s princessOr a nautch girl?Are you a celestial damselOr an artistic imaginationOr a girl post-modern?
Who will be the president,
Where will the power lie in?
The rock-built temples standing as a witness to time,
But they are still erect and un-corroded,But we know it not,Who made them,Ho much time did it take in making,Who had been the architects and sculptors?The rock-built, I just see themAnd think about their making,The plan of work and construction,The material it is made of?O stupendous, stupendous,Stupendous are those rock-built, cliff-hewn temples,How did they drill…
The bluff-master Ph.D. guide’s
One bluffing each other,Like the teacher, like the disciple.The research guide too cut, copied and pastedIn his daysTo do the Ph.D. of hisAnd now so the research scholar of his doing,Clipping the pages of the library booksAnd dovetailing,Cutting and pasting to do his Ph.D.
The house I live in
The place I am standingThere burnt a body in the distant past.All those houses that see youAre the haunted houses of TimeAnd its Bulldozer dazing it all to the ground,Razing it all.If you want to know, ask them the peopleOf the ancient hamlets and thorps,How had it been,Who had been thereon?
Just the tongue
And the glittering eyes visible,
Just like a fresco.
The tongue made of silver,
The eyes metallic
And set into the fresco.
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Whistling,
Passing through,Chugging on the rails,Gathering speedAnd running,Running through speedily,Crossing over to reachIts destination,Destination.
The cowboys and bufflomen,
Leaders not,Ministers,State-level not,Central.
Criticism, how to take to,
Criticism of the criticTo take to.Maybe it personal,Maybe it impersonal,Maybe it subjective,Maybe it objective.Criticism a matter of readingsAnd recordings of impressionsAnd expressions marked and felt.How the themes and thoughts,Images and ideasAnd philosophical standpoints coming out?
Man is a walking shadow,
They too are but shadows,Your shadow, my shadow, the shadow of life,The world a shadow.I am a shadow, you are a shadow, they are shadows,Shadowy is this existence of ours,History of ours shrouded in mystery,Shadowed life, shadowed presence of ours,Shadow, shadow, only shadowsIn life and the world.
Talent, where is it,
Searching it, hunting it,As for talent search, talent hunt,Where that genius is,Where that flower isBlushing unknown?
Though written earlier, he could not pursue and follow it then
The kernel of Chariot of Dreams was sown earlierAnd he wrote it then,But could not publish it for so long.Again, when dusting the racks and shelves,He found the manuscriptAnd he went through it,The work written during his youthAnd he accepted and acknowledged the matter finally.Chariot of Dreams, published in 2002, from BangaloreIs a poem of…