But the actress in pains.
What has happened to her,
O, the play of life!
She going to reach the halt
One dark eve to catch the coming train.
The drama of life
And the theatre artiste,
After all, she too is a man.
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The House I think is mine
It’sOf Time,The Haunted House of TimeIs itWithThe Phantoms of TimeSitting as the ListenersUnresponsive.
An awkward fellow
Superstitious and blindTo logic and reasoningBut a reader of some kindCame heTelling of luck,Fate and stars,Seeing the forehead,Guessing aboutThe probable, possible customersAnd the people flocking,Extending hands one by one.The palmist a clumsy fellowRustic and clownishIn odd dressUnfolded he the palmyra chartsWith diagramsOf hands printed uponHe sat down to see and sayWhat it in one’s fateGoing…
Jackson dancing on stage
Of MJIn my poetry,The dance of the King of Pop.Can anyone break and singAnd dance like himMoon walkingSometimes boyish-boyish,Sometimes girlish-girlish?
Pink-necked green parrots
From the peepul treeThe parrotsGreen-greenAnd pink-ring necked.
If ask you a sadhaka, what is poetry, he will perhaps say it,
Doing sadhna in the cottage of hisAnd to be a sadhaka is to be afterAnything that do youAnd without devoting and dedicating, you cannot achieveWhat you seek to attain and get fromAs to be called knowledgeableAnd it is in perfectionAnd it comes to notIf not heated in the furnace.
I rocking,
We all rocking.Rock, rock,Rock stars,Rock bandsmen.