Not for pushing them
To the front-line
As for taking gunshots
And fireballs.
Soldiers, soldiers,
Be they the Chinese troops
Or the Indian forces
Near the Galwan Valley,
But men are men,
End you not their lives so easily!
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Never, never,
Giving tears to anybody.
Dark daughter,
Dark the world,The myths of Creation.Dark is Kali,Dark you,Dark the world,The ways of life.Dark you,Dark the world,Dark is Kali,The myths of Creation.If this be the state,The state of things,The go of the world,If this be…The things continue toBe muffled in,The mysteries laid it not bare,Shrouding it moreThe riddles and the puzzlesVexing the mind and brain,PerplexingWhat…
Hazara Singh who made his humble beginning long ago
With his publication in 1980Just with AspirationsAnd since then has been attempting to write verses in English.A poet Francis Baconian and Bertrand Russellian,He goes into the toes of theirs,Inducting in knowledge and wisdom,Fact and fiction,Logic and reason.A poet humanistic, he is nationalistic and patriotic tooAs for his connection with the freedom struggleAnd being a freedom…
The myths of modernity
A world travelledAnd toured,The olden mythsOf Soviet Union,Kiev visitedAs a writerDuringAn exchange programme,Bhopal seen,Bombay ruminated.A poet of the commuter fatherAlways travelling,The old banyan tree cutFor the new mansion,The son’s hazy memory,The beaches of BombayAnd the cities and townsVisited and re-visited,He takes a note ofAll thatWith the passing comments of ownTo be transmuted as poesyRevealing, divulgingThe…
Shakespeare, keep us not in the dark,
The lady love whomDescribe you secretly and stealthily as the love of your poetry?You may say that your mistress’s eyes are not like the sun,The cheeks not rosy,Lips not pink or coral-like,But I will.The eyes of my mistress dark and beautiful, lovely and deepThat see I, go I seeing on,The lips of my darling pink…
Nrenderpal Singh’s Crossroads
By Writers Workshop, CalcuttaStarts withTwo Fates at Crossroads, Bank of Beauty,Dreams, I Forgive You, England,The Niagara Falls, Blood Donor,Ganga Water,Is all aboutLove, friendship, tour and travelAnd relationship,The irony of living.Foreigner girls,Beauties and blondesWith Namaste India,His poetry is poetryOf love and relationshipAnd meetingVisiting foreign museums,Participating inInternational film festivals,As a member of the jury,He says the things,Puts…
ghouls without faces,
in mechanical rhyme.
paid for, paid off,
eyes open and blind.
hearts severed from the soul,
soul severed from the mind.
gunfire, racism,
treat women like a toy.
grown men without mothers,
fathers, just boys.
gang bangers, pimp daddies,
kings of purgatory.
bad drugs, bad days,
and nights without joy.
cant pay the rent, get a job,
and prison becomes their school.
no hope for nothing more than nothing,
trapped by the have not rules….
soldiers, soldiers.
pawns in the rich man’s game.
victims of unholy anger,
and gods that have no name!
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point of light, point of death,
child of Cain, child of Seth,there’s no reason to believe…patriot games, hollow masks, stolen names,mountains crumble, acid rain,you gotta give to receive…man and feast, swear allegiance to the Beast,till all is done and all has ceased,the painter’s brush is ash.children lost, cant pay the cost,necessity rules, the truth is tossed…writing checks we cant cash.(we’re standing…
if i could find
i’d send you all the thingsi’ve seen, i’ve felt, and i’ve known…all the tiny wonders,all the precious moments,all the touching, crying, kissing,holding and believing…all the joy, sadness, struggle,miracles, and weeping…all the raw beauty,all the truth and dignity,all the hopes of freedom…wrapped in a cardboard boxcovered with many colored paper,tied up with ribbons of soul…postage paid…
we
theheadlongpursuitoftheAmericandream…destroytheAmericanideal….forgetting that neighborsneed neighborsto make a life!
old woman,
flannel shirt and panties….washing dishes with knowing hands,sunlight through the window dancingon the strands of grey in her hair….an old cat rubbing against her ankles….bombs exploding, new world’s emerging…even the nails in the wallswhisper the coming change!blackbirds carry the message of snow,the old woodstove crackles and smokes….somewhere they’re painting bannersand buildings with freedom’s song….he sits…
was talking to a truckdriver
yesterday.he said: ‘pretty much the same,everywhere i go, people eitheraint working, cant find work,or if they are working, cantmake enough money to get by on…dont care what they say on the tv…’i told him, ‘ it’s the same thing here,people keep coming in and telling methey dont know what they’re gonna do.a friend of mine…
how many small deaths?
are we drifting off to sleep?out to sea?or further from the core?we die in circles,circles within circles.with small short breaths hurledon the hairy plate of eternity.a thousand tiny fires,built by unseen handson darkened roads…a thousand tiny deaths!or a thousand stop the world kisses,when names and identities are forgotten,if but for an eternal moment.how many times…