In Sanskrit
Meaning the King of Mountains,
The Shailendras,
Shailendra kings
In Sumatra, Java and Bali
And their powers exerted,
A seaborne empire,
The great builders and makers
Of temples and Buddhist artifacts.
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The rural disguiser showman used to show the roles
Even in teh small town,Soemtimes dressed in a khaki robeHe used to come and callAlighting from a bicycle,Ringing the bellAnd knocking at the door,Is there anyone in the house,There is a letter,For…,Bye-bye, I am going, again shall come.The other day the artiste in disguise used to comerunning with the one tied aroundAnd the thick rope…
O Asi Ghat,
Have you,Have you seen Telang Swami,The Andhra sadhuWandering,Floating in the Ganga watersThrough yogic miraclesLying for hoursIn a relaxed mannerO Dashashwamedha Ghat,Say you, say you,where have you seen, seenThe naked yogi,The great Hatha YogiFrom the Dashnami Sampradaya,The Advaita Vedantist,The Raja Yogi,Tantric Sri Telang Swami?O, O, you, Dashashwamedha Ghat,Asi Ghat,Vedvyasa Ashrama at Hanuman Ghat,Say you, say you…
Kissing you,
As if I kissed a flower.The petals so soft and tender,So dreamy and imaginativeAnd so fanciful,Lovely and attractive.It was my impression of youWhich brought me close youAnd kissed I.After kissed I, tears welled up inInto the lustrous eyesAnd you held the hand,Asking to be truthful to love.
O cinematographic villain, it’s true that your are doing the role of a villain
It’s my request to you,You remain a villain,An expert in villainy,But make not others real villains of life!You with music in the background jump on the cushionLike the hostel boys,Playing with pillows and bolsters,Boxing into and doing the jokeAnd they taking to it really.You boxing in the air and the cameramen showing you beatingThe heroAnd…
With the same mansion
Sculptures and statues,Flight of stairsReplicating the same,An ancient universityAs for viewing it afresh?Nalanda ancient mahaviharaWith the statues and sculpturesOf Buddha and other deities,With the halls and divisionsJust for the bird’s eye-viewOf the ancient glory.
Jayanta Mahapatra a poet of the poetry of the absurd,
Life absurd, the world absurdAnd we the absurd peoplePeopling it.Or one of light, light breaking forth at dawnOr retreating backAnd with this moving to the origin of the universe,Of the world, of life,The sound and speech?