Asking to see the Mother Kali
And to say.
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The burning trains,
Damaged platforms,Broken signals.What sort of peopleAre theyWho can burn the trains,Damage platforms?For the first timeSaw I the peopleSetting trains on fire,Gathering to storm it all.Throwing stones onThe running trains,Breaking the windows,Damaging the tracks.Atop the asbestos-sheetedPlatforms,Pulling and breakingThe canopy and its avenues.Damaging the signal system,The station master rooms,Beating the railway staffAnd the security personnel.
What was it Canada,
How are theyThe indigenous peoplesInhabiting itFrom time immemorial,How their text and times,What about their dialect, sect and culture,Is there not anyone to enlighten upon?
How to keep the environment falls within
Free from pollution,Rampant urbanization,Plants and factoriesAnd other hazards?We need purge ourselves,Heed towards,If the environment so will be we,If not, everything will get lost,Cut short.
The girl-child as the bride seated on
And the cart crossing the river,The bullocks drinking waterAnd the setting sun retreating.
Michael Jackson,
Where are you,I want to dance like you?
Dark daughter,
I turn to you,Turn to you,Dark daughterFor comfort and solace,For solace and comfortWhenever sad and sombre,Sad and sombre,Broken and frustrated in life!
And the mystic priest of bhakti-marga
Rarely visible
In a human form.
The World Trade Centre
The building falling,
People running for cover,
Many jumping to death
And they trying to make
The plane crash over,
Dark clouds of smoke and dust
Swirling around amidst
Hullabaloo and pandemonium
And stampede.
How had it been their fury
And vengeance
That they hijacking planes,
Making them crash over
The World Trade Centre,
How their hatred and vengeance,
How their misanthropy,
How their thought and idea,
The heinous activity!
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The Blue Boy of Brindavan
Where the blue boyOf BrindavanFluting the pipeAnd Radha tryingTo overhearGiving an earTo the musicSo melodiouslyCalling?A Fairly Tall GirlRajanigandhaStandingWith a bouquetOf fragrant icy-white bloomsTo present.An ImageGandhiThe old manWith the charkhaSpinning yarnFrom the handloom wheelConjures uponThe mind’s plane.A ShayarI am a shayarJust for you, my loveAnd you coming to meIn terms of shayriAnd my romantic shayrana andaz.The…
The typist who used to type the theses
Now a professor of a college,The typist who used to work as the office staffOf the university.
As a Leeds man,
An Oxford Press man,A former lecturer.
I just see them and think
Have also turned intoThe examiners of The Ph.D.thesesThose who had not to beHave alsoAnd having examined they,They saying to me,What have you done in life?See how qualified are we.Ph.D. external examinersApart from internal guides,Experience lies with us.
Mahouts
Elephant man,Trainers,Riders or keepersComing fromThe days of yore,Dating backTo royal patronageTo till now,We knew them not,We them not,Who,Who were theyThe trainers,Keepers or ridersRoyalOr commonlyTaking it as profession,Familial business,Mahouts,Indian mahoutsThe great elephant trainers,Who,Who they were,Who,Who they are?
Where, where the blue boy,
Of Brindavan,Fluting,Fluting the pipe,The pipeOn his lipsTaking toAnd the melodies,Melodies breaking,Breaking,Engulfing,Engulfing the area,The bowers and arboursAnd river banks,Villages submerged in,Submerged inThat soulful,Soulful music divineTaking,Taking us by strike,Awe and suspense,People,People giving ears to,Ears toAnd trying to hear,Hear, overhearWhere,Where the melody from?