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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In this Age of Internet,
On Facebook, Twitter,People uploading poems,Posting on websites,Making blogs.
In the beginning
Were establishedAnd people used to go notTo those inaccessible, far flung places,The second rate fellowsFrom Bihar, U.P. and other statesUsed to be to,Even the small profile teachersToo used to be the ones joiningAnd after joined the facultyThey used to apply for greater assignmentsIn other states.
Bapu,
On the Indian currency notesAn old man goingWith a lathiAnd in the round specs,In dhoti and vest.Your bustOn the notesWith the dhotiAroundAnd in the round specs,Mahatma Gandhi!
When the words, my mother, come to the mouth,
And I remember, rememberHow my mother was!
Writing is an art
And stylistic and linguisticAnd literary and lyrical.
The song of it sing I,
To Deoghar and Dumka toJamtara,The clusters of hillsDotting the highlands and downlandsWith the forestsWith red-mouthed monkeys,Hanumans, black bears and tigersRoaming large.The hills shining blue,Standing solitary,The landscapes secluded and manlessAway from haunt,But full of mahua, sagun and saal trees,A summer full with the scent ofBlack-berries and jack fruits,Mangoes full with,Plums in winter wild and prickly.The palash…