The world

Whose, whose kalasha is this?Whose asthi-kalasha hanging by the tree?Karta:It is my mother’s, my mother’sWho used to love me so much.(With tears in the eyes and remmebering her)Chandal:Who, who gave you the permission to cremate hereAnd to post the asthi,The asthi-kalasha?(In an argumentative mood of his)Karta:None, none permitted me,None, none told me aboutAnd in time,…

Which but they complaining of,Why, why did heWithout saying toAnd had he,Would not have desisted from?Yasodhara weeping, breaking down and in tearsAnd complaining the day afterHis departure for the good of the world,Abandoning his royal and princely robes,Ysodhara feeling and repenting,Repenting and complaining,Why did,Why did heAnd had he to go, he should have,Why did he…

Or in meditation under a Bodhi treeOr crossing borders in the Far EastGiving his gospels and sermons,Artisans making the statues of BuddhaFrom stone, clay and metals,Buddha is Buddha,Where is he not,In your soul, in your heart,On your mind,Just feel you, feel you it,just search you, search you it.

As the plays of George Bernard Shaw are,The plays of ideasAnd he a talk man giving talksSo is Jayanta MahapatraA professor of physics, but a poet of English,Indian EnglishAbsurd, existential,Samuel BeckettianDelving into the existential drama of the absurd,Questioning the purpose of living,Who we are, what our purpose,Why are we.

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Dealing with lockdownAs for the corona virus,Poems publishedAnd collected and put into a whole.

The lions at the entranceAnd the temple in the form of a chariot designA picture at every sunrise and sunset.The sculptures in love, relationship,Erotic and sensual,At war or prayerSculpted and chiseled in stone,No less than poetry.The Jagannath Puri Temple by the sea beachWith the wooden idols ofJagannath, Balabhadra and SubhadraAnd the devotees lined up to…

The lanes and by-lanesOf towns and streets,Making a mockery of,Camping and lecturing together withWithout differentiating anything,They all wanting to be leaders,I mean the common men,With a hidden agenda and strategy of ownAs for to come to the fore.A govt. of the people, by the people, for the people,The ideal looks good,But will they be able…

Whenever I see themThose take me backTo Rajasthan,Rajasthan and its desertsCamels,Indian camelsThose from RajastahnTaking meTo a different landscapeWith deserts and sand dunesAnd the ships of the desertTraversing the tract.

Satyam, shivam, sundaram?A flowerOr a girl,A celestial damsel?Satyam is she no doubt,Shivam tooAnd sundaram.Let me,Let me see the painting in full,The modelExactly like one,Satyam, shivam, sundaram.Truth, goodness and beauty was she really,An embodiment of the three,Whatis satyam is sundaram, shivam.

A son of the soil,An educationist, a reformer,A debater, a humanist,A radical, a free thinker.

Aap acche to hain?Aap kaisei hain,Meinei pucchaAur wei hansa padei.Phir unhonei apni dadhi cchuyinAur kaha,Mein accah hun.Mr.Bearded,How is the thing going on,Are you fine?How are you,I asked himAnd burst into a laughter.Again touched he his unkempt beardsTo say it,I am fine.