Poets, poets, poets,
O God, save me, save me from the poets,
Poets not,
Poetasters and rhymers,
Versifiers and poetry makers and taggers,
o God,
My God, from the mad people
Loosened from the asylum
For a conference,
The brain short people,
The people of a short circuit,
The frenzied men,
Not the normal men,
But the abnormals babbling,
Babbling by themselves,
Whispering and smiling
And going,
Calling great poets,
Literary figures and personalities,
held by ego, pride and hypocrisy!
O God, where are You,
Are You seeing,
What to,
What to do with these people
Gathering,
Gathering and crowds the streets
For a conference,
A Mad Meeting,
A Mad Men's Meet and Literary Organization,
The asylum people,
with the red-red insomnia eyes
showing sleeplessness
During the night-time
And of writing poems
Burning the midnight lamp,
The poetrywallahs,
Not chaiwallahs, beediwallahs, paanwallahs,
But poetrywallahs,
Indian English poets and poetesses!
Oh, my God,
Oh, my God, the mad-mad people
maddening it all,
The mad-mad people
Gone mad for poetry,
Grinning, smiling and chattering,
Crazy and light,
Grave and ogling,
Of types,
Thinking great,
Not less than
Hitler, Mussolini,
Chengiz Khan,
Alexander the Great,
Coming for participation,
The book release and launch,
The mad-mad people
Maddening it all
After attending the Mad Men's Congress!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem