Bijay Kant Dubey Poems

May I know it, sir, flitting the pages of your life to our astonishment
That you married,
Finding loves, strange meetings and altering them,
First, Clarissa Luard
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Rajgopal Parthasarathy thought he that England would be his home
And English the language of his home and usage,
But it happened it otherwise
And he returned back from foreign
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Politicians
They come from the footpaths
And return back to the footpaths.
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“How are you, my love?
I am your dead wife speaking.
How are you, my love?
How are you? , ”
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O charmer, where do you lie in, playing the been, the wooden been
With the haunting music of yours,
Playing and playing, pumping and puffing the wooden been
And the music mellifluously overflowing us, engulfing it all,
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The harsh winter with the bleak hope
Lashing the houses with cold winds,
Hidden in mist, fog, chill and frost,
The sun struggling to come out
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What it is in the department,
The academia and the academies
And the people academic,
Followed by a dull and routinized affair,
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Communists are power-hungry,
Blood-thirsty people,
Goondaism, bossism and politicking,
The three things of the party,
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Is it modern art to make blue reels or films
Of photographs,
Is it modern art to present the nudes,
Clothless girls bent on the hands
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They are Ukrainian girls,
Simple and homely,
Do not call them hotel girls,
O Indian embassy staff
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