Salman Rushdie,
You so modern and up-to-date
Leaving Bombay behind
Keeping pace with
The Western approach
And outlook
Clutching along the fanatics
And zealots
To keep them at wit’s end.
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Where, where the blue boy,
Of Brindavan,Fluting,Fluting the pipe,The pipeOn his lipsTaking toAnd the melodies,Melodies breaking,Breaking,Engulfing,Engulfing the area,The bowers and arboursAnd river banks,Villages submerged in,Submerged inThat soulful,Soulful music divineTaking,Taking us by strike,Awe and suspense,People,People giving ears to,Ears toAnd trying to hear,Hear, overhearWhere,Where the melody from?
You are my first love, first love,
Just believe,Said he.But on hearing him, said she curtly and cutely,O Mr., how long will you go saying,I love you, love youAnd dodging others?It’s too a realityThat she has, I love, love youTo many a girl beforeBefore meeting herAnd she catching him red-handed.
How have they debarred me negating my poetry?
From to be a poet,How they have upped the ante?Instead of that, I am strugglingAnd shall continue to.You say it frankly who has supported meNeither the Padshri nor the Padma Vibhusan awardee poets,Nor the Sahiya Akademi awardees,Nor the bluff masters of contemporary Indian English poetry,I mean the bogus students after having got the theses from…
An olden statue of Radha and Krishna,
And of yore,Centuries old,Built ago,If the spade clinks overAnd the digger stumbles overAnd gifts it toA thing of historiography and museumlogy,How to view it,Hold into the hands of mine?O, a statue of gold, pure gold,Looking blacklyOr coated so,But of pure gold,Weighing to croresIn current valuation,Suppose that find youA statue historical, museumlogical,How to hold itInto the…
Li Young,
The painsOf your living,Passing your daysIn Indonesia,Fleeing ChinaTo AmericaFrom there!An Asian AmericanOf Chinese descentYou Lee,I can the painsOf your living,But you nowAn AmericanAnd the land is yoursAs the good earth the same!
Bharat ki garib bitia,
Mei rota hun,Tu etana garib kyon?Bharat ki garib bitiaFatei-chitei kapado mei.India’s poor daughter,After seeing youWeep I,Why are you so poor?India’s poor daughter childIn torn clothes, rags.