The midnight is Mother Kali,
The time to worship Her,
Call and invoke Her,
The Mother Supernatural and Nocturnal
...
Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass just like
The Tennyson of In Memoriam,
Plucking the blade of grass and piping
As did he Tennyson
...
The urn of my mother,
The unburnt navel and the ashes of hers,
Just a handful of
Put into the little earthen pitcher-like
...
That I do not want to say,
I love you,
But it gets said to,
The tongue slips and it gets out,
...
Poetry is not poetry, but ornithology,
A bird eye-view,
See the birds flying and derive from,
The kingfisher smoky and glistening
...
Jayanta Mahapatra as a poet of silence,
The morning sea of silence
Breaking into ripples of music,
Th lotus blooming
...
It was beauty, a beauty to see her,
A girl so budding and teenaged
And so beautiful,
So beautifully lean and thin,
...
Keki Nasserwanji Daruwalla as a poet is
But a writer of dramatic monologues,
Not the soliloquies,
Verbose and bombastic
...
When said she to me, I love you,
Exactly from that,
Changed it the heart of mine,
Now find I not any interest in any work
...
A cup of coffee and a loveful talk
Just want I, blonde,
Your golden face glistening,
Beauty apparent,
...