Without the after-thought
Cannot be acceptable
As the women arenot cattle
To be sold and purchased instantly.
The bibi is not a gulam
But a human being,
You must accept it.
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Which came I to see,
Feel itThat I saw, saw you,Knew, knew you,Came to feel, feel you,You, your presenceAll, all though the picturesAnd photographs of yoursReminiscing you,You, my love!Your album, your albumOf photographs, photographsI glimpsing through,Glancing at and gliding.
My love, you are drunk, unable to walk,
Speaking in drunken capers.Have you become as such, destroy you notBy taking wine,Smoking cigar after cigar?Stop you and pause a bit to think,What are you doing, my love, in modernity,Where are you going to?
Standing on the foot board
I talkingWith the tornado,The blizzard,The typhoon.
Salman Rushdie,
Sketch,Sketch I him,Photograph,Photograph IThe personality of his,A man who has stood forThe freedom of speech and expressionIn the worldWith his guts admirable.
My karma, my dharma,
What it awaits me?
Love, My Love,
Sad and morose,Forlorn and broken,What has it happened to you, Love?Love, may I know it, why do the people weep inWhen the beloved parts from,Why does it the heart break into pieces,It aches and writhes in pain,Beats fast abnormally,Fluctuates and pulsates,You say it?What is it love, why do people love,What it is in love,Is love…