In the dark and lonely hamlet during the dark night-time
With the eyes burning and bright,
The black cat.
Black-black and burning, with the eyes burning-burning
And black-black the colour,
The cat jumping from and vanishing.
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The bearman, comes, comes he
Chained around the neckOr threaded through the nostrilAnd the bear black, black,Blackly-furred or haired,Walking like a monkeyThe four-footed animalBut can stand on feet,Climb a treeWith the backward movementAnd is ferocious tooMay snatch or nailBut it is not like that,A trained bearWhom the master hasBefore bringing it hereFor roadshowsAnd the bear playingThe role of a drunkardGrovelling…
I love you, I love you,
How many times have you toHow many girls?Is to love and leave on the footpath of lifeYour philosophy of life, gentleman?
The inextinguishable lamp
Which but the AtmanJust like the diya,An earthenware, oily and wickedWill go burning.The indivisible human soul,A unit of light,A small lampIt will go burningFor long,Which but will not extinguish,Burn for ever, burn for ever.
Biswakarma,
The Engineer Divine,Technician, Skilled FellowWhose Plan And ExecutionIs it allThe Creation,The Workmanship,The Artisan Divine,The Mechanic of the mechanics,The Technician of the technicians,The Engineer of the engineers,The Skilled Fellow of all skills,Manual, electrical, mechanical, electronics,The Operator of the operators,The Machinist of the machinists,The Sculptor of the sculptors,The Artiste of the artistes,The Great Artisan of the artisansAnd…
Burquawalli, you are my dream,
You are love.You are my heart,My heart (read it slowly) ,You are my heartache,You are my heartbeat.You areMy throbbing and pulsating heart,I love you, love, Burquawalli,I like you, like you, Burquawalli,You are my dream, dream,My love, my love,I love yopu, Burquawalli.
Poetry as broken lines of prose,
Stanzas of verse,Poetry as thoughts and ideasAnd reflections,Poetry as sweet remembrances and memoirs,Scribbled and jotted down thoughts and ideasLest they may fly away and vanish,Out of sight out of mindAnd you trying to put down on paperThe unputdownable.Poetry purely personal, privately individualAs for what one thinks, what one dreams,What one opines, what one views,What one…
And vanishing
In the dark
With the
Burning-burning
Eyes
Glowing
And burning
In the dark
And vanishing
Into the lanes
After
jumping from
The muddy hamlet home
Second floor.
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If your son is a smoker,
And hears he not,What can youIf he hears you not,Listens to not,Let him,Let him smokeAnd blacken his heart…
I am a man of heart and my heart it is that you know it not
Never have you tried to know that,To feel it,How the pains raking it!My pain the pain of my heart,My own,Which but you know not,How does it rake the poor heart!Many a day have I thought that I shall not,But my nostalgia, homesicknessWhom to tell, whom to share withAs my days spent they thereAnd I think…
Without the Sardarji,
How to do the entertaining talks,Sprinkling a pinch of salt and the spicesTo make it dainty?Turbaned and dyed,Looking young even in his old age,Failing his son,Khushwant is the man to be reckoned with,A master gossiper,A master talker,A politico, a journo and a literateur.From Lahore to London to Delhi,He can say about,The trend and tenor prevalentIn…
Rather than an Indian
A failed and struggling artistAs a Marathi poetTranscreating in EnglishAnd this is howI have understood him,How I have taken to.Kolatkar is amusing,Hearty and regalingBesides being masculine, robustAnd slangy and abusive in language.
Poetry as rock-built temples,
Housing the Divine,Grand and stupendous,The viewer viewing in awe and astonishment.
Om,
Three letters giving it the form of a syllable,The sound breaking forth,The darkness dispelling,The birds twitteringAnd it’s the dawn flashing upon.Close the eyes and recite you,Om,The heart taking the nameAnd the mind rising in unison with,Close the eyesAnd recite youAnd the recitation taking you higher and higher,Elevating to.
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And glowing eyes
Quarelling
In the mud-built dark country homes,
Jumping from the second floor
And vanishing in the dark
With the burning, burning eyes
And glowing,
Jumping from
And running away
Into the dark lanes
Of the dark, lightless country.
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I too want to be a hero as no less than a hero look I,
Yea, I mean the dark glassesOr the photo-chromatic lensesWith the stylistic golden frames,A small comb and a small mirror that I have in my pocketAnd wherever go I, keep I inAnd combing and looking my face.For to a be a hero and to be specific about my careerI have tried to collect inThe dress materials…
As the mentality has not changed over the years,
Conservative and orthodox mentality,Patriarchal and narrowOf ghettos and taboos.But rather than suppressing it nowWe open it more for media coverage and profitAnd business rather than redressing the woundsOf the victims under trauma and tension.
Nothing will go with me,
Your love will.Have you ever thought of your loveFor your dear and loving daughter?
The big bird
The vultureTalk I,The brownish,Dark brown vultureSitting atop the hills,The simul treesWith the bloomsBut leaflessly standingIn spring.But where did they come fromAnd where did they vanish awayWhen the spring is gone,The vulture,Big and billed vultures,The scavenging birds of preyScavenging,Labouring upon a carcassTo clear it forthInto the fieldsJust like a taxidermistOr a leather seller?
There is nothing about the horses
But poverty, impoverished conditionsOf living, people below the poverty lineAgainst the backdrop of the crowded spaceOf colonial statues and monumentsAnd this fast and busy acing life of todayFull of so much gala and glitz and glamourShowcasing modernity, urbanity and industrialization,Btu the reality is far from that we still poorerWithout sufficient food, cloth and housingAnd life-saving…
When none is around you,
Life and its lonelinessWhich is but the helplessness of your life?When none is around you,How to view it lifeWhen you are alone,There is none to share feelings with you?Such a time,Such a time will also come into our life,You just wait for,Wait for that.