Hughes, you do not look like what you are in your poetry
A man so cruel, so callous
In your behaviour
That you could not take care of
...
Red rose, have seen you, seen you
Somewhere
In the courtyard of,
Blooming so beautifully
...
They call themselves Ph.Ds., but I know it, what they are,
How their Ph.Ds.,
Are they original Ph.Ds. or duplicate Ph.Ds.,
How have they got it,
...
Wept he by the pyre that he would never marry in his life
Just like Bhishma Pitamaha
Though he was not,
A married man,
...
I think about the Himalayan ranges of the north-east
Inaccessible and treacherous,
Full of mountains, hills, rivers, woods, gorges and valleys,
Indeed the difficult terrains and mounds
...
Rahul Sankrityayan, it is not your travel literature nor Leningrad Univ. professorship
That interests me,
Neither your scholarship nor your language learning,
What it actually stuns me is this that
...
Was to sacrifice, struggle and sacrifice in the poor destiny of yours,
Rattanbai “Rutti” Petit, the daughter of Sir Dinshaw Petit,
From whom sought he the hands of yours,
The flower of Bombay,
...
The black cat, the black cat jumping over the mud-built thorp house,
As black as the night, deep and dark night,
Representing the dark side of the Creation,
What it is dark will remain so,
...
From the downs of the woody track and the wild
Came it upon the fox,
Coming in its gait
And with its appearance,
...
It is often said that the policeman not of his father, I mean father,
Your father, my father, their father,
But father father,
Who keeps saying,
...