Pankaj Prasoon

A mega urban forest
abode of two billion
amused
mesmerised
...

Poetry becomes a weapon
Against the tyrants and imperialists
In Tunisia, Egypt and Syria
Yemen, Bahrain and Russia
...

On the open ground lying remote
thousands and thousands of vultures
descended
absorbed
...

Wearing coarse yellow saree*
with red borders
there she goes… Mother India
to work
...

Sharmajee, sixty -year old
sold medicine
in his small shop
...

i saw the ocean
first time
at Kanyakumari
calm n' quiet
...

Trayvon Martin
seventeen year old
stepped out of the apartment called Retreat
at Twin Lakes housing complex
...

In the memory of Cheekoo, my dog

There you are lying-in your usual meditative posture
breathless
...

...that day
i was coming from Howrah
to Dhanbad
on the Coalfield Express
...

I love the hills
hills, mountains, and even cliffs
it should be of hill clan
be it Himalayas, Vindhya, Alps, Andes, Kilimanjaro...
...

I am a mute spectator of a cruel, insensitive time spanning thousands of miles. There are tales of shattered dreams of mankind interwoven with it.
The ever changing
haunting symbols
brutally killed hopes
...

You won’t get my name
In the scrolls of history
yet I belong to history
I am witness to the broken hopes
...

Come on
Let me recite you a poem
There are no charming words in it.
Nor there are soft loving words
...

I am trying to write a poem
For the last ten years
But have not written a single word
The moment letters try to become a word
...

Palojoree is a small village town in Dumka district of Jharkhand, India where in 1980s a massacre happened. The police under the Cong Chief Minister Dr Jagannath MIshra, went berserk and opened fire on hapless armless tribal who had assembled there to demand food. This poem is a tribute to those who died in that anti-people massacre.


The drum kept on beating
...