Beating into the woods
Of the dark Continent
And enjoying the beat,
Th beat of the drum.
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Sylvia Plath
Crying,Daddy, my daddy!Daddy, daddy,My dear daddyIn a girlish voice!The love of her voice,The pain of her heart,Nobody could feel it!Sylvia Plath,The daughter of the daddy,Daddy, my daddy!A girl so sick and sympathetic,Homesick and nostalgic,Daddy-centred!Daddy, O, daddy,O, my daddy,Daddy, daddy on the lips!The daughter’s love for the daddy,The daughter’sLove and sympathy for her daddy.
The sly, undermerit fellows from other states,
Turn to the northeast mountainous and hillyTerrains and wildsAs for easy assignmentsIn colleges and universitiesAnd after substantiating their respective positions,Start calling themselvesExperts or new criticsOf the poetry in English from the northeastThough there is nothing like thatAnd had it beenWe would have heard about definitely.The simple teachers from other statesAre trying their best to come…
With
Namaste,Brahma, Vishnu, Maheshwara,FoldingThe handsAnd saying,NamasteWith the closed eyes.ClosingThe eyesAnd withNamasteTo Brahma, Vishnu, MaheshwaraWhoever be it,I showingMy respect toWith.
The wintry sun dispelling the darkness and gloom
The hamlets and thorps awaking and arising fromWith thin wrappers over the bodyShivering with cold and coming out into the golden sunshine to bask.
Just we know it that George Orwell,
Was born here,In India-Bihar’s Motihari,A small impoverished town of the then timesJust with a villagerly backgroundBut tuned toAs per opium and indigo plantationsWhich the Bihar govt. and the India govt. tooCould not dwell it uponThat their caretaker was born here in India.His father who was an opium agent was notDefinitely well-paid,But the colonial divide, the…