It was Vidwans who wrote to me
When I was Joint Secretary Planning Department
Referring to Kahlil Gibran’s
Being nonplussed on somebody
Firm, shapely, level-looking
Great assets of his girl-wife
Making him proud of the assets,
Loosening tied up movable property,
I have crossed sixty, attention is failing.
Lights are fading, recognition decreases,
I feel almost unwanted now and then.
An angel on earth! Pah, where are they?
They are fairy-tales or christmas carols:
No evidence, not there: but only priests'
Holy men's way of cheering and cheating.
Six, seven books half-read are open,
Still I started what courier just gave
A bilingual poetry book by T P Rajeevan.
I cry tears of bitter pain and sorrow:
One says you write prose and claim it is verse,
The other asks, is it only autobiography?
And one more accuses me of just recording
I am polite, listen to others,
Keep quiet, and carry out instructions;
I fall into one trap, ignored as ineffective.
It is a pleasure to be in a car
Where the driver has no ego,
Not against the other fellow
Not giving way, or brushing you past,
First it was at Sessa house-cum-cafe
On way from Bomdila to Tezpur,
I saw a grey-coloured cat:
Soon it was at my feet,
Bright, sunny, cool morning with no breeze
Above the blue, nirmal sky, not a bit cloudy,
Enclosed with buildings except on one side,
For green foliage looks peeps into the pool,