Perhaps did not
As she was not the Vice-President
And now they are
As she is going to be,
But we should keep it in mind
She is not an Indian citizen,
But an American.
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Black poetry,
Or black and white poetry?Black is black,White is white,Let them be,What is your workSay you?
The earth,
The philosophy of itLandscapicFull of highlands and downlands,Rocks, hills and trees,Rivers, valleys and marshesAnd without these,The earth is not the earth.
The Bactrian camel
Taking me back toCentral AsiaAnd beyond,The face strange-looking,Horse-like,Buffalo-like.
Without knowing Rama,
Said I, I knew,Knew it Rama,Rama,Without knowing Krishna,Krishna, said I,I knew,Knew it Krishna,But where your Rama,Rama,Where your Krishna,Krishna?First, know your RamaThen say you,Say you,First, know you KrishnaThen say,Say you,I know Krishna, Krishna,I know Rama, Rama.
An Australian poet
And English-Jewish motherMalouf talks of family photographsAs a gallery of ghostsIn the frame-work of time,Maiden auntsWith lack-lustre, looking pale,Journeys with stars,Mythologies with make-believe talesTo tell.
Natwarlal, the great conman of India, you see,
But the tragedy your living nobody thought it to feel it, know itAnd while enacting all this, they made moneyOut of you, gave nothing to youAnd you remained poor,Fraud and falseInstead of your talent,The talent you had,God-gifted talentOf forging any signatureAnd representing anything else.His pass-book in his hands, the pass-book of the account holderAnd you…