Bijay Kant Dubey Poems

An astrologer is but a counter, consulting the charts,
Pale sheets of papers
To foresee into
Your self and personality
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The dark daughter, what do you know about her,
The pains behind the smiles of hers,
Outwardly dark-complexioned,
But inwardly working and toilsome,
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They ask me, Mr.Dubey, where have got from the art of humour
Humour, mockery, joke and laughter
But what to say to,
As I have from the clown, fool, rustic character,
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May I know it, sir, flitting the pages of your life to our astonishment
That you married,
Finding loves, strange meetings and altering them,
First, Clarissa Luard
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The harsh winter with the bleak hope
Lashing the houses with cold winds,
Hidden in mist, fog, chill and frost,
The sun struggling to come out
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O charmer, where do you lie in, playing the been, the wooden been
With the haunting music of yours,
Playing and playing, pumping and puffing the wooden been
And the music mellifluously overflowing us, engulfing it all,
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Politicians
They come from the footpaths
And return back to the footpaths.
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“How are you, my love?
I am your dead wife speaking.
How are you, my love?
How are you? , ”
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Communists are power-hungry,
Blood-thirsty people,
Goondaism, bossism and politicking,
The three things of the party,
...

What it is in the department,
The academia and the academies
And the people academic,
Followed by a dull and routinized affair,
...