A tiny creature
Of the marshland, the moist places,
Hovering around
And lighting the panorama,
Glittering and glowing like stars,
Twinkling stars
So full of mysteries and twinkles
Lighting strangely
As fire lamps.
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Without an American heart, how to sing, sing the songs of life, without, without an American heart, how, how can I America in its Americanism and Americanness?
Without an American heart, how to sing the song of America?
Burqawalli, just for,
Am I here,HereWaiting,Waiting for you.A blonde,Belle,Beauty,MaidYou passing,Passing byIn the burqaAnd I,I marking you,YouWith love.
Only the poets and poetesses take the credit
Laced with their personal thought and idea,View and reflectionRather than science and technology,Sitting in the skycrapper talk theyTo the drones of airplanes,With the collar phone set to his shirtAnnounce they, give they the lectures,Attend the seminars or meetsAs resource persons and inviteesWith the selfies takenAttesting their presence,Touch the screen to take the interviewOf the poets…
What is bhakti?
Devotion and dedication,Piety and purity of heartAnd faith and beliefAnd the heart the centre of all,The all of bhakti.
Whatever say you about him,
If luck favoursWho can but sayRahul Gandhi may be the nextPrime Minister of India.
The burkhawalli maiden atop the footbridsge
Standing underneathLooking her.She smiling from the railway fly over,Bidding ta-ta, bye-bye from thereWith the hands waving at and greeting me below.