Bijay Kant Dubey Poems

How will be it, my death?
I just think about.

Can you say it, friend?

Only one thing that I know it is this that
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Save the poor girl child of India,
Do not sell them,
Save them, save them
From being the load of a patriarchal society,
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O potter, give me some clay
So that I may make, make and re-make my dead mother,
Collecting the earth
From there, where burnt I her one day!
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Bar dancer, society extracts the all that is good in you,
Extracts and dumps you elsewhere
Taking out the all that is good in you,
First, tempting you,
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Is love the name of some strange meeting?
Who said it? , can you tell me?

Neither I knew you nor you knew me,
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The song of love sing I,
The song of love.

The song of love whistle I,
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The grammar of poetry, where is it,
You say it to me,
In rhetoric and prosody
And its hard and fast rules,
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Will life come to a close
As they keep saying about the heat wave and the cold wave
Taking their toll by turn,
The soaring temperature
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You never try to popularize and promote yourself,
Never do a propaganda of you yourself,
If you have poetic merit and talent,
One day fame itself come to you
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He is a daru man
As keep he the bottle of daru
With him
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