To Tibetan Plateau
To Mongolia, Russia,
The yaks,
Long-haired bovids
With the long, dense fur
Hanging over
And with the sturdy legs
The shortish lambish yaks
So beautifully hued.
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The history of man,
That you don’t know it,That I don’t know.
The heroine has not come,
I am waiting forTo start the showOf the theatre of lifeTo bid good bye finallyTo en it up.
With my drunkard son,
My GodWith my drunkard sonAlways drinking and quarrelling with?
The smart phones,
GPS facility,Positioning, tracking systemAnd proper location,Flyovers,Earth-moving machinesWith shovels and drilling and digging toolsDoing marvelsOn highs and downs,Messages texted jutIn a fraction of a secondOverseasAnd we marketing in a global villageFull of malls and plazasSet up with tourist destinations.
May I take the liberty of knowing the White girls accompanying you,
Flanking you, Master,I know them notAs I enquire aboutJust as a common man of flesh and bones,With a desire to probe and question psychologically,The dark secrets of life,The stories of human relationships,Attachment and detachment?You please say it to me who are the White beauties flanking Gandhi,Going with him,With the hands over his shoulders,Supporting and goingAnd…
Kalbhairava with Noon
Belted and chainedGoing together withTowards the sadhaka’s hutIn the secluded landscapeAway from human habitationJust with a cursory glanceTo be away to.
To Tibetan Plateau
To Mongolia, Russia,
The yaks,
Long-haired bovids
With the long, dense fur
Hanging over
And with the sturdy legs
The shortish lambish yaks
So beautifully hued.
Similar Posts
As a poet
Writing black poetry.SingingThe song of AmericaLooking through the Negro eyes.
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…
When I see them coming from the drama practical,
I mean the learners,Dressed and made upAnd after seeing them, forget I my poetryAnd start thinking about their performing art,Trough dancingThey saying it allWith their poses and postures in movement,Expressions of sorrow and happiness,Expressing through signs and symbols,Rhythmic movement and break-up of limbs.Just like puppets, the old puppet dances of IndiaAnd the artistes making it…
Why is Shiva Nilkantha?
And why did he take the poisonRounding around snakes?
The border
Planes in operationFor air strikesOver terrorist campsAnd the terrorists lyingAmbushed.
Do you love me, love me,
The poor simple heartIn love and tears,Asking,Asking so nicely,Do you love me, love me really?But said he not so, with so much so loveFrom his within,That I love you, love you so much,That I like you, like you soBut the poor girlBewildered in loveWent on sayingI love you, I love you,Say you love me, love…