Indian Robbers/ Picnickers/ The Pistol/ The Jackals Howling Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Indian Robbers

When they used to come,
The villages used to shake with,
Robbers,
Indian robbers
Twirling the moustache,
With the sword and other arms,
The rifle and the gang
Disguised as
Or bursting bombs.

Rifle on the shoulder,
A red tikka on the forehead
And clad in dhoti and kurta
The robbers,
India dreaded robbers
Used to come at the dead of night
Askingto come out,
Bolting the wooden doors,
Tying with the rope
And asking for gold and silver
And other valuables.


Picnickers

Have you seen the picnickers
Picnicking,
Cooking and eating together
On the grassy turf
Of the spot
Or in the forest tract?


The Pistol

It is interesting to spell
The pistol,
But how does it strike,
Take with terror and horror?

How does the shot
Come out
From the fire?


The Jackals Howling

Wily, swift-footed
And slipping around,
The jackals,
Gray and blackish,
Furry-tailed jackals
So wily and wild
And sharp-muzzled
Jackals,
Indian jackals howling,
Howling during the night time
Coming out of the boroughs
And bushes,
Dog-like but striped
Gray and blackly.