Times gone by,
Eras slipped.
History is history,
History of life and man,
History is of kings and queens
And their reigns and regimes.
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What it happens on her, none but a drunkard’s wife
The experiences of her life,What it undergoes on her,How the emotions and feelings of hersTo bear the brunt of!Sometimes comes he singing a ghazal,Sometimes sobs and weeps he within himselfLike a simple child,Sometimes engaged in a brawl, an altercationOutside the family,Breaking down before herWith the open mouth,Sometimes flanking the friends,I mean the bottle-takers,He going hand-in-hand,…
Ghanashyam,
Dark blue,Ghanashyam,Ghana Shyam,Dark BlueAn image conjures uponThe mind’s planeWith the taking ofThe nameGhanashyam,One which is blue-coloured,What,Blue-coloured imageOf KrishnaWith the Golden FlutePiping and standing beforeWith a peacock crown over the headAnd looking bluish-bluishAnd beautiful!
Who reads poetry today
Poetry written with a good heart or a bad heart,The heart heavy with, under the load of or just about hollow things?Poets’ poetry the poets read it, big and smallAnd the critics sifting not, just glossing over leisurely.The good number of the critics too lesseningAs they looking up to the paparazzi in inspiration.
Where the poor ass,
To die in harnessWhich I used to see itWhile going on the wayNear the house of the weathermanOr standing near the washing ghatOf the water body?
Is Valentine’s Day
And embraces,Roses to be exchanged,Physical and bodily?Nothing spiritual about,Just amorous,Nothing to sacrifice and dedicateAnd devote to?Love is love,Let it be.
Who, who is lass,
Singing, singingThe song,The song of NagalandWith bamboo pipes and basketsGoing to harvest and gather?The horns blowingAnd the dances startingWith big-big drumsAnd beatingsIn the midst of hills, vales and dales,Forests and woodlands,Ravines and plateaus,Huts and villagesDotting the terrains.Music so ethnic, so indigenous,Tribal, aboriginal,Primitive and pristine and folkTaking to a panorama of the wild,Forested and hilly tracts…