The way,
I came across
A young maiden
Just like a red rose,
A red rose
Failing even
A heroine.
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Jayanta Mahapatra a poet of the poetry of the absurd,
Life absurd, the world absurdAnd we the absurd peoplePeopling it.Or one of light, light breaking forth at dawnOr retreating backAnd with this moving to the origin of the universe,Of the world, of life,The sound and speech?
The politics of India
How to do it?
He is a goonda,
Does not hear anybody,Does that only what he wants,What he thinksNonsensically, irrationallyJut like a villain,A boss,A drinker, a party-maker,A gang-manInvolved in brawls and altercations.
My kohinoor
Scheduled caste girlWith a nice face-cutting,Somewhat dark,But very beautiful.Can you sayWho was it who found the kohinoor,Who cut and chiselled itRather than studding the crownOr the throne?
Do not put them before me
As the bitter truth come out,Who the guilty men of PartitionAnd even if India was, for what?Is this called justice?What was judged it?Why was it in a huff?They would have sat on chairAfter sometimeAfter handling the fanatics.
How to keep the environment falls within
Free from pollution,Rampant urbanization,Plants and factoriesAnd other hazards?We need purge ourselves,Heed towards,If the environment so will be we,If not, everything will get lost,Cut short.