A wanderer
Or a fakir
A vagabond
Or a mendicant,
A ganjeri
Or a bhangeri?
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How has the time changed,
How the times,The times have changed,The situations and circumstancesOf lifeAnd I also myself a wayfarerHalting at the crossroadsTo take toDiverting and digressingAnd bifurcating fromAnd as thus goes the unknown way of life!
I love her so much
Made for each other,For me,Not for you.
People know them as critics,
But they are poets tooA few know it,Had been beforeOr have become after practicing it.If this be the truth, the thing of reckoningThen M.K.Naik too is a poet,If not a major one then a minor one definitely,A writer of Indian Clerihews,1989,Indian Limericks,1990,More Indian Clerihews,1992,Writing under the pen name Emken.As a light verse writer, he follows…
Find we a scent of the soil,
Where the farmers, plowmen and tillersWork it there,The golden sheaves of wheatGlistening into the fields,The fishers at the netsFishing,The boatmen at the helmFerrying with a rudderA poet of Kerala,The coconut trees of itWith the sea scapes,lakes and water bodies,A poet from Kerala,A Dravidian,A Malyali manK.Satchidanandan.
Is a poem of California,
When in the night people keep shopping,But the night,Who is of whose,The moderns, shoppers, fashionable men,Vagabonds, gipsiesOr ramblers,Drunkards or the people in tipsyOblivious of day and night.Actually, where has insomnia takenWings from,Busy platforms, hospitals,Theatres,Night watchmen and guardsKeeping a vigil,They know what the night stands forSo are the young fellows,The druggies,Allen Ginsberg taking the night all…