I fear, fear to
See you, sirs,
How much dreadful and horrible
Would you have been,
Three dreaded and horrible sirs
Whose sight
You would never again?
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Monsoon clouds
DrizzlingAnd lo, it is a downpour,The clouds burstingInto,Melting,Bringing in more rains,Flooding the areas,The rain waters flowing downwards,Engulfing the areas.
Was it a literary movement
Or poetry set to musicAnd sung into the streetsBy the beatniksInduced by jazz, drug, sexOr bohemian life styleOr Zen Buddhism?
Murkhamantri driving the bullock-cart
Going to the Assembly HouseIn BiharAnd the vllagerly men as rusticsSeated on his cartGoingThey also going to take the oath as ministersAnd MurkhamantriAs the chief ministerAnd while taking the onward journey fromTheir villagesThey gossiping on the midway,Rubbing tobacco and chewing,Some smoking beedisAnd some cigarsAs for to be modern with the times.N.B. Murkhamantri: Foolish-minister
When I die, I know it
I shall be all aloneWithout the relatives,Kith and kin, near and dear.I do not need anyoneTo perform the funeral ritesNor to repent for,Where have you the time,Where have I the timeTo let you know aboutAs am in a huff to goAnd have to go but all alone,The body will be consigned toBut who will, I…
Was he a revolutionary,
Or a poetIdealist,Who,Who was he?A romanticOr a poet revolutionary?
Robert Frost, your romantic pastoralism,
Leading to the farmhouse withThe galloping horse passing throughThe forest track,Snows falling,You with the saddled horseGoing on horsebackMarking the beauty and mystery,Silence of the woods,The evening falling,Darkening it all,Looming aroundAnd you pausing by,Pausing and passingMarking the evefallWith the temptation of viewingAnd the pull back of loyalty calling,Robert, Robert Frost!