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...who is a POET??...he is...but a dethroned king sitting among the ashes of his palace trying to fashion an image out of the ashes...
..he is the poorest of the poor..yet he carries an oasis in his heart cultivated by the caravan of his thinking...he is a pauper..but he still pretends to be a ' prince ' in the kingdom of his vivid imagination..
..he only sings when he is starving for he cannot sing if his mouth be filled with food...
..he only raises his hand to beg for he cannot raise his hands if it be filled with gold...
..his wealth is his winged imagination and fictive power to think...and ' thinking ' always acts for him as the stumbling stone to ' poetry '... :) ;)
..he is a tree watered by the river of beautiful thoughts..and carries in his heart a lamp unconquered by darkness..
..yes..he seeks NIRVANA..not by counting coins of gold..but in leading his sheep to greener pasture..in seeking a smile from humanity...in putting his child to sleep..and in writing the last line of his poem... :)

...he will be unheard until humans honor the dead and forget the living..for then only upon his ' death '... ' he ' will rule their hearts...and his kingdom will have no ending... :) :) ;)
..TO HAVE GREAT POETS..THERE MUST BE GREAT AUDIENCES TOO... :)

Monday, 8 February 2016

poverty's child



whoever you may be
be as a blood
to a bleeding answer
i am a wound
who lives on blood
like a beautiful leech


the last 

hundred rupees
has been withdrawn

suddenly
everything turns
cold and numb
like death!!
misery
like a gangrene
ripples into my
blood
bones
and maybe my skin too!!
ambushed
bruised and defeated
wearing the carcass
of penury
i run from everyone!!
cousins
acquaintances
neighbours
shopkeepers
the newspaper vendor
the cable guy
and my weather friends!!

buried in my cocoon
i go to
the darkness of my room
where hunger is my only friend
the smiling cup of tea
my only solace!!
battling monsters
in this dark obscurity
' now ' after ages
i dust the cobwebs
of my mind
as i try to write
about
this cursed
and damned
poverty's child!!
even this borrowed bidi
has now started
showing tantrums
it refuses to light
this flesh is really sad
but i laugh :) :)
as i rot
and burn
in this fire
of
poverty

:  rupee is an Indian currency
   bidi known as poor man's cigarette is an Indian cigarette wrapped in a tendu

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

a dream :)





and suddenly
in the deep silence
of the night
a dreaming of mine 
begins

last night
i dreamt of beauty
that sight
a burning river of fire
engulfed me
and a brave madness
erupted inside me
i leapt from the bed
and went searching for beauty
high up in the white of the hills
flying across the endless skies
drifting along the misty clouds
taming the canaries and falcons
surfing the seven colors of the rainbow
i wandered into the Savannas and the Prairies.
Bathing in perfumed gardens
gyrating with lilies and the blue bells
searching among the green of the meadows
for that oasis of Eden.
Singing hymns to the wildflowers
i crossed vast deserts into faraway lands
where the winds made music
in praise of her charm.
Blasting away the calm of the forests
i hunted in the night with pumas
riding wild stallions
looking for that pearl
that hidden shrine of forever.
Jumping from the highest cliffs
diving into deepest ravines
drowning into unfathomable seas
i was a madman
in ecstasy
half-burnt
by the inferno
of this elusive beauty
suddenly
as if the dead have risen
from the grave
my phone rang
and from the invisible world
you whispered ' Hello!! '
and my search for beauty
ended :)

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

the wild flower :) ;)


i don't want you like that
masked as another
i want you pure , free
irreducible you
when i call you
among all people of the world
only you will be you




since centuries

you have been
chained to the roots
of these empty traditions
time and again
you were sacrificed
for being
a mother
a sister
a wife
a lover
for long
you have endured
in silence
for long
you had misery
pain
and tears for company
be a rebel
open the braids of your hair
rip apart the veil
that clothe you
from yourself
come out of the garment
woven by men
stay naked
in your happiness
you are a woman!!!
the powerful metaphor of my poems
you belong to the wild
where no force on earth can tame you
you are a wild flower
go..breathe in the wilderness
go..dance in the wilderness :) ;)

Friday, 1 November 2013

the paro girl :( :(


yes to you women 
in a world of pain
to you bright star 
in this ever-spending universe
to you fighter 
of one thousand-and-one fights
to you friend of my heart

being a girl..
was my biggest curse..
poverty made it worse..
this is my story..
my battered destiny..
that some greedy men chart..
first they tried to dig..
my grave in the womb..
i was lucky to have seen the light..
later that existence came at a price.
to be sold for my female body..
my flesh..
to the faraway lands..
where the cattle were priced...
higher than women..
and everyday rape came wearing..
the garment of marriage..
now..i was a woman..a wife..
did i say wife..???..or mankind's whore..
to be sold and resold again..
to be shared by many men..
to be devoured by the hungry males..
to satisfy their sexual gratification..
again and again..
now i was a Paro girl..
millions of candles have been lit..
but i never seem to see the light..
facebook and twitter revolutions have been stirred..
but my battered world still remains the same.
a living corpse....in chains...
living a life of tortured existence...
held captive in a country..
where ironically men worship..
women carved of stones..
even today they want me to have a boy..
and thousands of my sisters are being killed in the womb..
as long as this carries on..
every day a new Paro girl is born..
every day a new Paro girl is born..



Every year thousands of girls are trafficked from Bangladesh,Nepal,West Bengal,Andra Pradesh,Tamil Nadu,Jharkhand and north-east India into the north Indian states like Haryana,Punjab and Rajasthan and sold into marriages,these marriages are often fake and termed as ' jugad '..due to the rampant female infanticide over decades , girls have almost disappeared from these places that is why they are trafficked from other places to fill in this gender imbalance..this poem is dedicated to those girls..who go through this worst form of MODERN SLAVERY and abuse  and are termed as the paro or the molki girls..