Taking the rugged men far,
The nomadic tribes
Living under tents.
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Allen Ginsberg, who, who were you,
A yogiOr not,A bhogiOr this too is not,Who, who were youA poet or a patient,An addict or a romantic,Who, who were you,A yogi or a bhogi,A bhogi or a yogi,Allen, Allen Ginsberg?Is your poetry of the mental asylum,Of a drug-addictRecuperating in a drug rehabilitation center,Is your poetry of the correctional home,A mad man’s babbling and…
It is good to have a walk with you,
Under the moonlit lights,The moon shining overAnd you and I talking with each other,Lost in sharingThe feelings of heartUnder the milky white orbs glisteningAll over the landscapeAnd you and I strolling,Going with and talkingAnd sharing feelings.
Was he a broadcaster,
A rebelOr an idealist,A theoretician,A leaderOn the forefrontOf a literary movementWith his manifesto?Who was,Who was heEzra Pound,The rebel broadcasterDoing the anti-American propagandaAs for the fascist forcesOr of talking ofWrong American policiesSelfish and imperialisticDealing with power lobbies,Caucuses and diplomacy?
Miss Khatun in the burqa
And I looking her,She extending the hands,I extending the hands,Holding in,Holding inTo wish,Happy,Happy new year!
I want to sketch
Of hers.A huge photographOf hersOvershadowing.And I walking downThe streetUnder the shadow of.Overlooking usAnd I going by,Passingthrough.I thinking about,FeelingAnd going.Nirbhaya,Fearless, without fear,Why to fear!O distressed soul,Why to look morbid,Death cannot kill you!
When I see them coming from the drama practical,
I mean the learners,Dressed and made upAnd after seeing them, forget I my poetryAnd start thinking about their performing art,Trough dancingThey saying it allWith their poses and postures in movement,Expressions of sorrow and happiness,Expressing through signs and symbols,Rhythmic movement and break-up of limbs.Just like puppets, the old puppet dances of IndiaAnd the artistes making it…