And those know it,
Say they not,
What it is the soul and the spirit,
As most of the sadhus and saints have,
The sadhus and sadhakas of India.
Similar Posts
Bapuji’s red-mouthed banars, I mean small and simple monkeys,
Small and lovely,Scratching the hairsWith the bizarre and grotesque red face.Do not see bad, do not speak bad, do not hear badAnd they are so,With the hands over the eyes,The hands on the lipsAnd over the ears.This is all about Gandhiji, not Shastriji,A Sahityacharya, Vyakarnacharya or JyotishacharyaFrom a Hindi or Sanskrit Vidyapitha,A linguistical vernacular university…
Beloved, let me see you,
Dark and lovely,Your face,Fair and lovely,Your cheeksAppleyish and fine,your lipsPink,Your hair,Waist-long.
Autumn came it
Dancing in the wind,The dew drops drippingLate into the night,The cchatims tree blossomsHanging in clustersAnd with them Durga DeviComing.The kash bloomsAtop the tall standing grassesBy the marshy plotsOf the river banksJust like the white beardsOf the old menOr the beards of the old Santa Claus.The blossoms in clustersOf the old cchatim treesFragrancing the evesScented withSo…
My biography,
But I myself shall writeAnd post itIn another’s nameAs none has come forward toMaybe it that I shall write itUnder the pen-name,Mr.Beard with the beardsOn the poetry of Bijay Kant Dubey.
I am myself mad
If keep you my companyAs my madnessNever curableAnd they know itAs poetic madness.They themselves are madAnd will make it all the mad,I mean,The mad, mad peopleMaddening it all,No talk to do,But poetry, poetry,The most inactive people.
Poetry is not only dreams,
Colour and romance,But realism, realistic details too,For it ask you the sweepers and cleaners,The dressers and compoundersAnd nurses,Poetry not only celestial and heavenly,But real too, down to earthly realities,It looks beautiful to float on the waters,But when the paper boats sink they,The shipwreck brothers tell the tales.