Smaller Poems Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

The Old Age Home

Is this the old age home
Where I shall have to go to
One day?

Let me see it now
With a passing eye-view,
May have to one day.


Sorrow

Your sorrow, I could not
Feel it then,
The nights heavy with
Your weeping
And you weighed under
Pain, grief and sorrow!

The House

When someone is with,
When someone is not
And you alone
Sitting by the door
Seeing the pathways.

Where Shall I?

Where shall I go
As I think
On marking
The pathways of life
Bifurcating?

My Tears

After distraught with
And devastated,
Wept I bitterly
Coaxing my fate
With the hands
On the head,
Reading history
Of bad times
When man
Feels helpless
And hapless.


O Gypsy Girl, Selling!

The idol
Of Siddhidayak Vinayaka,
What price will
You, O gypsy girl,
Even being in clumsy clothes
Living by the roadside
Squalid tents,
Can you so artistic idols?

Taking the pink-coloured idol
Into the hands
I looking back in wonder
And astonishment,
How could she
From clay!