Sadhna,

I am a man whose days are limited on this earthOf short stays and brief livingsAnd you are busy calling great.

And why do they write it,What can it give to?

Chirping, hopping aroundAnd twittering,Where have they flown away?

The lambs and the small children, my pastoral love,In which hamlet home of the countryside,Lie you playing?

One knows it allAs a caged parrot too keeps saying,Sita-Ram, Sita-Ram,If it is taught.If one thinks that a poet can only experienceThen one is mistaken,The same emotion, the same feelingAre in us in the same intensity.The poet arranges and re-arranges the words,Juggles with not the balls but with the words,One cap turning into fourAnd four…

Planes in operationFor air strikesOver terrorist campsAnd the terrorists lyingAmbushed.