The leftist intelligentsias.
About basing in sun warmth,Telling of The Sun Rising story of Donne,Spring FeverAll about burning, burning and waitingBut so indifferent to,Lost about being lostIn her tressesShowing the same beaten track,The theme of Original Sin.
Standing on the edge of the highway,
Holding the heart breath.I feelWhere are they going?
By the Dalits,For the Dalits.A matter of the Dalits,Let them.
The style with which
The nasal sound that youAdd to,The emotion youAttach to,Twisting and twistingThe tongue.
As the Indian English poet,Poet not,PoetrywallahOf so-called Indian English poetry,The ragged manPosing to beAn Indian English poetBut the reality isHe knows it notEnglishAnd his EnglishHindustani English,Indian pidgin-English,An Indian gwala mixingPond water in milkAnd selling adulterated milk.
The red China roses, have you seen then, come to feel and mark
So fair and fresh, so lovely to look at,Dazzling with the colour,Red and florid, fast and beautiful?A mere look at themSweetens it all, the on-lookersWho look to them feel it happiness withinAs thy return not with any dejectionUndergoing within.