On the terracotta plates
Embossed upon the outer pillars
Of the terracotta temples,
Made from limestone powder and small bricks.
I see the figurines and sculptures in love and romance,
In devotion and prayer,
Symbolizing dharma-artha-kama-and-moksha syndrome
And also the masons and architects
Who made buit remained anonymous
And the purpose behind the art.
Sometimes they taking me to the semi-divine beings,
Yoga-yoginis,
The aboriginal maids testing the sadhna of the sadhakas
Symbolically and mystically,
Sevadasis and devadasis turned stone
In the name of religion, faith and piety,
But God could not be,
The nautch girls, exhausted with dancing,
Desperately lying with the fallen ghungharoos.
Are they the replicas of the sevadasis and devadasis
Or the dark girls born with a darker fate
Or are they woman-labourers
Helping the masons and sculptors
To turn into the frescoes themselves
Which I do not understand, I do not understand?

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

I take to poetry,
Writing poems
With the heart held in trust and bonding
With all sympathy
Writing the poetry of love,
Infatuation with
And suppose you
Rajanigandha is a slim girl
Fairly tall for her age
And meeting me
With a pack of jasmine sticks
To give to me.

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Kept you mum and silent,
Said you not,
Just shrugged you off.
I saw you under the wintry chill and mist,
Fog and frost,
The icicles hanging by,
But you standing silent and still.
None was there
Except you and me,
Only the stars were twinkling,
The moon was shining above.
The scene was as such
Picturesque against the landscape gloomy
That I could not resist my temptation
From impressing a sweet kiss
On the cheeks of yours.
Rajanigandha- a type of fragrant and white Indian flower

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Under the mist and the dews?
Who is, who is the maiden
With the star as flower
Plucked and put into the hands
Going in the dark?
Under the moonlit nights, who the maiden going,
Talking with the stars
And the fair, fine and icy fresh rajanigandha sticks
Full of whitely blooms,
Dreamy and strangely scented,
Smiling and talking?
O, love’s talks!
I just marking her from my window.

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

The poems of love.

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

The moonface under the ghunghata,
I mean the moon under the purdah
And I writing my shayari and ghazal for her
And she coming to me as ghazal and shayri
And she doing the quawalli for me
Kissing my beards, just gesturing from far.

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.