Bijay Kant Dubey Poems

Sorry sir, you cut not, cut not please
My poetical beards
As may cease to remain a poet
And my poetry will die a very poor death.
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A mad man’s thing is poetry
So do not write, said I
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Gentleman, is this your love, gentlemanliness,
Is this your modernity,
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Poets are coming
And on finding them approaching,
Let me run away
Taking my father's name
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You are yourself a red rose
Then why to give to you
A red rose?
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Burquawalli, couldn't you recognize me,
I am your same lover,
Cast a cursory glance over me?
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I do quawwalli very privately and personally
Before a very selected audience of my own,
Dressed in a lungi and a ganjee
Very privately before my little ones
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