Bijay Kant Dubey

Bijay Kant Dubey Poems

The Dark Daughter
The dark daughter, dark not, but beautiful,
Call her not dark,
As she dark not, my dark daughter,

A dance is a poem
Gestured through
The body language
And its signs and symbols,

The madman going.
Have you felt his life?
How mad is he?

In a very sweet and sonorous voice, sing you, say you,
Said she the girl in a golden and nasal sound of her own,

Do you love me? Do you love me?

If you peruse deeply, you will come toy our finding
That modern Indian English poetry initially began with
The stray poems and one books on the anvil
And they were not established writers, but were the beginners,

Meri beti,
Bahut cchoti beti,
Tujhe kaise batun
Ki duniya badi berahami aur jalim hain?

Hey, in India,
The India of the mass
Diverse and varied,
Where the sun blazes hot

After so much so nagging and bragging,
We are reading it, going to make up our minds
As for to read the poetry written in English
By the Indians

What is culture?
Culture is refinement and polish,
Is inherited rather than attained
Though can be

The book of poetry, slim in corpus, carries to Jayanta Mahapatra
Sahitya Akademi award for 1981,
A book which presents the poet
As a dreamer and a visionary,

Poetry in the age of electronic print media,
How will the poems be tomorrow,
Will the computer literates dominate the scene
With their c.vs. and blogs?

A fashion designer
Want I to be,
But don't worry,
I shall become

All happening under the overhang of crags,
Fierce bird-mating
Of the monal brown grey birds,
The male shot at

I have just heard about
The incident,
But sometimes do they mistake
In handling cases

T.S.Eliot like the English pundit
Chanting the shantih mantras
And sprinkling water with a mango leaf
From his water pot over the heads

Chand she chandni,
Labon she hanshi,
Jigar she jo chahat,
Muhabbat she betaabi jo

Stephen Gill
As a humanist,
A peacemaker,
A pacifist

The fools are gathering to celebrate
April Fool’s Day,
The whole world a study in foolery,
Men are but fools,

Is a joint volume which has appeared from Oxford Univ. Press in 1991,
Accelerating the study of Daruwalla and his poetry,
The first starts with Boat-ride along the Ganga
Followed by Nightscape, Dawn, Bell-tower,

Keki N.Daruwalla As A Parsi Poet: A Study of His Myth & Poetic Persona,
Keki N.DaruwallaAs An Evolving Poet: A Journey From Cobweb of Words To The Present,
Keki N.Daruwalla: A Poet of The Browningian, Hughesian Outset,
Keki N.Daruwalla: A Poet of Robust Humanism,

The Best Poem Of Bijay Kant Dubey

The Dark Daughter

The Dark Daughter
The dark daughter, dark not, but beautiful,
Call her not dark,
As she dark not, my dark daughter,
Dark you, dark the world, the tales of Creation,
Dark, dark is Kali,
Not only you.

Dark daughter, you not only dark,
Dark the world and the tales of it,
Dark the Creation
And the tales of it,
The Light coming out from the Womb of Darkness
And shining upon.

Dark daughter, dark you not,
Dark the Creation and the tales of it
Shrouded in myths and mysteries
And miracles flashing upon
To dawn.

Dark dark, dark you not,
Dark is Kali, the Mother Goddess,
Dark the things of the world and the Creation,
Dark daughter, dark is dark,
Let it be, ravel them not
As they will continue to be in future.

None has laid them bare,
None has ever untangled,
Let them be,
You my daughter, dark daughter,
Dark but lovely
For one's own papa,
Not of any different papa,
Only mine, mine only.

Dark is dark, let them be,
Dark and puzzling
As the mystery of the Creation is,
Dark is not only dark
But beautiful too.

Dark you, Dark the Goddess,
Dark the world,
The myths of the Creation,
The ways of life and the world,
The coming and going of man,
What is dark, let it be, my daughter,
Dark but lovely,
Innocent and ignorant of.

O, dark is dark not, dark is beautiful
And I seeing the replica,
The Dark Leg of Kali
In the silver anklet,
Telling me the tales of Jogadhya-Uma, Sati-Savitri,
Shiva with the dead body of Uma
In a remorseful mood and disconsolate!

Dark daughter, dark you not,
Dark the world,
The mystery of the Creation,
Dark, dark in this dark and wide world,
You not only dark,
But dark is Kali, dark the Womb of Creation.

Bijay Kant Dubey Comments

Bijay Kant Dubey 13 September 2015

Your article on Adil Jussawalla The Missing Man of Indian English Poetry is a storehouse of information on the journalist poet who had been absent for so long which but many know it not and many will benefit from. I think nobody has written. it is such a great piece of criticism, laying it bare many an aspect of modern poetry, not known to us, lying hidden from us. That is why I am telephoning you at half past twelve of the midnight. I liked it very much and wonder how you could have. You language is very beautiful; you have a command over line and length. I could not edit; drop a single line from your paper. Such is the charm of your writing. Spell-bound by your powerful language, I finished your reading and as such had been the impact that I thought of contacting you personally. It has given so much ideas, thoughts and views and feel benefited from. Why do you keep yourself in hide when many expose themselves today? The mediocre writers are in light today, but you are so shy of and covert; an introvert personality, but when there is quality in you, why not to show it? Your humility is is your property which many have failed ti understand it. This is not a constraint but an asset. The Dark Daughter is a landmark of your literary activity; the lighthouse of your poetry, whose mythical texture many may not understand it so easily. It is the beauty of your poetry. - - P.K.Majumder

5 1 Reply
Bijay Kant Dubey 21 July 2015

I cannot call myself a poet, I can just say, I too write, but cannot myself a poet, as because I know it, I am not, nor have I been able to do it.

1 4 Reply
Bijay Kant Dubey 15 September 2015

About the poem It Is Not Me, But The Earth So Important, Vijay Vishal remarked: Nobility writ large in each and every word!

1 3 Reply
Bijay Kant Dubey 15 September 2015

Dear Dr. Dubey Indian English poet, Indian English poetry, and Indian English criticism -all get their deserved due from the poet's fair pen. There are poems on sundry subjects but his fecund imagination makes them interesting. In 'Confessional Poetry', the modern woman comes under scrutiny for her relationship stories. Then follows very fine division of poetry. In 'Value/What After Me? ', the poet conjectures about his departure from the scene of life. He ruminates about maya which manifests it self in worldly relations and worldly objects. 'Will The World End Soon? ' Voices your consternation about the inevitable end of this world which is perhaps at hand. 'Marrying For The Second Time' hints at the gnawing guilt of the middle-aged man who is torn between his love for his youthful second wife and his neglected moral duty towards his ''son and the daughter/ from his first wife''. In 'Life', the poet looks at the balance sheet of his gains and losses without complaining about the net out come. In 'Mr. Drunkard' the poet advises him to occasionally take wine but not let wine take him. He recommends sipping but not gulping. He is also for a standard wine and not the hooch. In 'Daddy', the lovely daughter pines for her daddy. 'Om' acts as matra for searching of the self and also losing of the self. The poem, 'What Is I? ' is a courageous argument celebrating the indivisible and inalienable unison of god and man. 'Kali The Dark Divine' is praised for being the cosmic mother. In, 'In A Godless Universe', the poet turns an atheist. He complains and laments: How lonely am I, / In a godless universe! I would like to suggest to the poet that loneliness may generate both godliness as well as godlessness. It is for us to make our choice. With warm regards Dr. Vijay Vishal

1 3 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 28 January 2024

TOP Score for your fascinating poem.

1 0 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 28 January 2024

You wrote an excellent poem today and there is no space to write my comment and complimwnt, so I have done that here.

1 0 Reply
Sylvia Frances Chan 28 January 2024

Your submittance today about the great poetess Sarojini Naidu, she was arrested during the 'Quit India' protest and stayed in jail for 21 months with Gandhiji.After independence she became the Governor of Uttar Pradesh. She was the first woman governor in India.

1 0 Reply
Dennis Ryan 30 April 2023

Let me start again. I liked your poem on Somerset Maugham, a fascinating writer. He wrote about his heart's core feelings—about loves he could not get over.

1 0 Reply
Bijay Kant Dubey 01 May 2023

Thank you.

0 0
Dennis Ryan 30 April 2023

I read your poem on Somerset Maungh(spelling?) , like your subject matter. He was a fascinating writer

1 0 Reply

Bijay Kant Dubey Quotes

Love me, I shall love you.

Before you go away, tell me your name?

I am not only talented, you are also but.

God loves me, loves you too.

Wild flowers too have beauties priceless, ravishing and rarer.

Wild flowers too have beauties priceless, ravishing and rarer.

Wild flowers too have beauties priceless, ravishing and rarer.

How bad am I! You do not know it!

A beautiful thing gives pleasure to all.

What is my own? Say you.

Your beauty is a source of joy.

My daughter, you neglect and ignore her not.

Mr.Fanatic, how long will you remain fanatical?

The fanatic's daughter is my choice, I have liked her and loved her to make her my life companion. The conservative dad's beautiful and lovely daughter is my choice and my heart goes in liking for her.

I loved you, but could not say, I love you, to you.

Is poetry the name of second madness?

What shall I call you, Suryamukhi (Sun-faced) or Chandramukhi (Moon-faced) ?

Without loving, how can you say, what is love? First love you then say you, what it is love?

Loving is the meeting of two hearts, two souls beating for each other, pining for each other.

The poet as Hamlet and Paglet, two brothers, psychic and neurotic.

The modern world has greatest fears from medievalistic people, I mean the conservatives, the orthodox and the fundamentalists, barbaric, brutal and bloody, logically cold and dead, religiously blind fanatical people, jaundiced and cataract-eyed giving birth to terrorism.

Are the unkempt beards the cause of terror attacks?

At your first glance have I fallen in love with you.

Never break a heart.

Where is Vrindavan, where the golden Vrindavan, where the abode of Krishna, where Krishna swinging under the kadamba tree by the banks of the Yamuna?

Indian English poetry criticism of the ragged men, the ragged men as research guides and the ragged men as research students.

O diggers, give me my golden statue of Radha and Krishna, you have found, my Anandamurti, the Statue of Delight, olden and archaeological, ancient and historical!

Nataraja Shiva, the art-piece is full of splendour, artistic and sculptural, rarer and priceless!

O my eyes, I can't believe it that an olden and ancient statue of Radha and Krishna arising out of the fallen debris of the lime-stone powder and small brick-built terracotta temples! The statue is blackly, but made from gold. Maybe it has remained laid down under earth for years, maybe it the statue has been painted black as for a covering!

O foreigner girl, where do you live you? Do you at the airport? You hi-hello, bye-bye, I like them very much. I want to converse with, but I know it not your language. O, had I your language! Say you, what is your mother tongue?

Where is my home? Where am I from? What my identity? Where to go finally? Can you say?

I love you, I love you. Do you love me?

Saguna Brahma, Nirguna Brahma, two facets of the Divine, Brahma In-form, Brahma Formless.

The Soul and The Supreme Soul, Jivatma and Parmatma, the Over Mind, the Over Soul, call you.

After death, where do they go? Where do they pass out of sight?

In search of classicism, where that classical scholarship, where that classical scholar?

A poet classical am I and my books as the texts of classicism, classical sobriety, morality and didacticism.

My classicism my Upanishadism, my Vedism and my Puranic studies

Do not think yourself talented as they too are whom we know not.

God, You make me John Dryden and Alexander Pope of India!

The art of satire is the art of a commentator

The satirist opens our eyes.

The humorist just regales, entertains through his humour.

My daughter dark daughter, mythical and mystical, historiographical and museumological, sculptural and archival!

My daughter dark daughter, mythical and mystical, historiographical and museumological, sculptural and archival!

The myths of the dark daughter historical and archival, architectural and sculptural!

The folks lost in taking the name of Ram-Krishna somewhere, the kirtanias late into the night keeping awake.

From the fallen pillars, columns and the foundation works of the small-small, thick-thick limestone powder and brick built centuries-old temples, the statues of Radha and Krishna arising!

O return you, my golden statue of Radha and Krishna!

O, where are they sitting in a Ram-dhuna, the rhythm of Rama, where they lost in reciting with incantation?

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