dream I
of my love
at noonday
when the scorching sun
ruffles it all
I dream of
the sweet coming of my love
when the gulmohars hang by
red-red and vermillioned,
florid and clustered,
fiery red and flaming
at noonday
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Terrorist,
Who has made him,What does he want?Atankvadi,Kyon hai wah atankvadi,Kisne usko banaya hai,Kya chahta hai wah?
The world is mine,
But said it they,The world is not yours.The world is mine, said I,But said it they, the world is not yours.My world, my feeling,How alone am I in this world!
On marking his shirt over the shoulders
Just the shirt overI just saw him of being without the hand,Oh, without the handAnd felt sorry for the man armless,Perhaps would have lost in the accident,The shirt hand hanging down in showAnd the hand is not within,Prompting me to avoid and avert the faceAnd the gaze of hisFelt pity for with a very heavy…
When as a schoolboy
The scavenger womenOn the short red-soiled wayGoing through the garbage heapGoing to dump the cans of human excretaSet over the wheelbarrowsDragged and pushed and drawn by themThe scavenger womenAnd I as a boy usedTo pass by speedilyAvoiding the foul smell and the green fliesHovering aroundBut they going to throw it out,Unload the dirt and soil…
The kite
Circling and circling overAnd to perch uponOr pickNear the municipal heapFull of stench and foulStill catch my eyes,Fill the heart with joyTo see that someone stillDoes the jobWith much zest and spiritWhen all the else have leftOr say care it notFor scavenging.
I remember you so much
Bapu, the Father of the Nation!