But touch you not
The blonde
Under yoga teaching,
O false Indian babaji!
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What it is dark will remain dark unto the last,
Let it beAs light comes dispelling it.Have you seen a dark girl,Not so much,But with a fine face-cutting?The heartful love, the loveful heart,Filled with love.
Dark daughter, your myths
The myths of love and bondingAnd sympathy,Filial loveWhich a daughter feels for his father,Which a father feels for his daughter.
Midnight’s children,
Stitched and re-stitched,Dream children of Partition,India being partitionedAnd they seeing,The ragged and the commonersWith so much bewilderment and disgust.
The musicians playing the music
Or in groupsDancing,Dancing strangelyWith finger snapping,Circular movement,Just like the circus artistes,The musicians too with the accordion, the bagpipe,The men and women too dressed strangelyDancing at their places,Splitting and pairing.
Standing on the highway
How fast and bustyIs modern lifeAnd living,How speedy and gusty!
I do not expect anything else from the govt. of India,
As what have they given to meFor serving literature selflessly and anonymouslySpending from my own pocket,Without getting a grant or assignementAs they who do not deserve are given awardsAnd those which of mine turning into dustDo not matter to them,Let the time come,I am waiting for thatAs it is definiteI shall return the awards given…