When I had not been, God,
Where was I?
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When I see their sorrow
How less is it my sorrowThan those of theirs?When think I of my sorrow!
Before you go away, tell me your name,
What your address, what your identity,What your name,Where do you live you?
Know I not,
Living hereOn earth?
The portrait of an artist make I
The artist as a young man notBut an old man,Seasoned and colourfulGoing with the time,Clutching age and ageingHe striding alongKhushwant Singh the man and the artistSketch I,The SardarjiIn the turban and the pyjamasWith the specs over the face,Doing the talks so much in glee and spirits,A novelist and a short story writer,An essayist and a…
I giving thanks to you and you to you
Someday.My poetry I shall read lying in my arm chairAnd your poetry you will lying in your arm chair,Calling ourselves great poets and poetesses.I shall call in an adman for anchoringAnd my book will be launched as thusWith the media personalities sitting before.Maybe it that the book will not see the press,But will be released…
The widow of India
Tyranny and torture,Not allowed to mix with,Share the talks loudlyOr smile with,Nor to dress,Apply cosmetics?The widow,The widow of IndiaNever allowed to step out,Go it alone,Living a secluded,Forlorn and forsaken life,The widow,The widow of India.The widow,The widow of IndiaA poor destitute,How hopeless and helpless,The woman,The poor womanIn a masculine,Conservative societyOf taboos and restrictions?To see her face…