Wintry fog and mist
And cold,
Wrapped in,
The ways taking to
The forest tract
With rivers, hills, dales and vales
And the winds sighing by,
Brooks babbling by.
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You take your glass of wine, but be not a drunkard,
You have small daughter and son to attend toAnd in loaded full,May turn you an animal.
Buddha lost in his sadhna
But the song of the dancersSounding unto him,Do not tighten the strings so muchThat give away they,Do not loosen so muchThat the music comes out notAnd he drawing from, taking a lesson fromAfter loosening the hard penanceFor enlightenment’s sake.
The jury is right,
In rescindingThe award,The Nelly Sachs PrizeAs she is anti-Israel,Community-based,Minority-combing.Whether she moves toBritain or America,She is but a Pakistani Muslim,She cannot discern her temperament.
Mother Kali looking blue-blue,
Shyama Kali.Mother Kali dark black, pitch-darkAs dark as the dark night,Dreadful and frightening.Kali Kali, whatever be Her face,The divine play of Hers,She is but Mother, Mother Divine.Ethnic, tribal, native and sociological,She is the myth and mystery of the world,The Creation Divine.
A darpiya, Indian daru taken
Counting the stars,Grumbling and fumbling,Abusing and shouting,Singing ansd talking.Indian daru and Indian darpiya, daru-drunkAnd having taken country liquor,Lies he fallen Mr.Darpiya,Into the bushes unable to stand,Under the open talking to the starsAnd sometimes near the drains.
An evening
Appearing and slipping pastInto the bushes,It is really beautiful,Beautiful to see.The golden jackal standing before,Close by,Getting visible by chanceAnd instantly slipping past,What can more interesting than this?