For art and artifacts,
Sculptures and figurines,
But the historians
claim it otherwise.
Can you tell about the sculptors
Of the past
Making the statues of golden Buddha,
Can you about the construction
Of the rock-built temples?
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Rather than a poem, I would be interested in the girl
What it is in fragrance that not in poetry,What in the flowerNot in poetry,What in the glow wormAnd the jasmine sweetly wildNot in poetry.
Arvind, act you,
As for to be a politicianAs people understand it nowThe drama of yours,The strategy for coming into power.Clutching the jokers along,Making a mockery of Indian democracy,Do it not politics,Keep the constitutional valuesIn mind too,As power is not all,The chair not all.
Do not shell, do not bombard
My daughter,My little afraid of,How will sheA little heart, a little soulLost into the wildernessAnd mess of bombardmentAnd shelling.Do not bombard,Do not,My small Syrian daughterHow will she sustain,SurviveA small girl,A soul and a heart,How will she,How will she live?To destroy Syria in such a way,To devastate lives,How to take to,Never can imagine in such a…
Jesus is the last ope
Will save usJesus,Lord Jesus!
I saw the gypsies
Of Siddhidayak VinayakaBy the roadside pavements,Drying the idols,Carving out of clay,Chiselling and paintingLively,Lively GaneshasAnd going with the idolsTo sellThe gypsy,Gypsy girls,Small-small gypsy daughters,DaughtersUncouth and clumsy,clumsyBut,But withBeautiful,Beautiful Ganeshas,Beautiful Ganesha idolsInto the arms of theirs,TheirsMythical,Mythical Ganeshas.
Even after writing for so long, I could not be a poet,
The poets and critics went through my poetryAnd the papers of criticismBut commented upon not in their publications.Their letters are with me, but not their support,They have the awards from the Govt. of IndiaBut I have not,Sometimes my spirit too disheartens itAs how long shall I keep working in isolation?So many of my epical poems…