Latest Poems (My Whatsapp Poems & Others) Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Latest Poems (My Whatsapp Poems & Others)

Latest Poems (My WhatsApp Poems & Others)

In the loving memory of my brother,
Sanjay Kant Dubey


Latest Poems has mostly been written on the WhatsApp and sent to the friend circles as for pleasure and profit and that too without any intention of making them available for propaganda. As most of these have been written without the titles, the first lines themselves serve as the titles of the poems under our perusal. Nageshwara Shiva lies in the note attached to the poem. The N.B. attached to the poem titled later on my also be counted as a sequel to it as well as a stanza of the poem. I have titled the poems after having written. When The Whole World Sleeps, You A Chandal By The Ghat may be another title for the poem included in it referring to King Harischandra and it was first thought about. Later on, when I could not trace it, I titled it again which is now. Sometimes one similar title the websites take it not so with a slight difference or variation the titles are changed and re-posted for to be uploaded on the sites. How Would Milton Have Paradise Lost? has been added to after the writing and composition of the poem. Villages as a poem can be re-titled as Villages, Indian Villages if one wants to make the title differ with the first line as for avoiding repetition. Can You say? as a poem may be titled Where Does The Pathway of Life Go To? The Death poem is a Donnian one. The Kamakhya Devi Temple is one about Kamrupa Kamakhya, Assam, the Neelachala hills. Into The Hands of Gypsy Girl is a Maharashtrian poem dealing with Ganesha Chaturthi. Freedom as a poem is Shawian one dealing with the radio talk given by him over the BBC. There is one poem which deals with Blake's The Little Black Boy, Dalit literature and the raising of pigs. While writing the poem, dealing with Milton's, his blindness flashed upon and made us envisage about the remaining portions being dictated to his daughters. There is also one Galsworthian poem included in it dealing with law and justice. My Mistress' Cheeks is Shakespearean. It was actually not begun in that way, but got transferred to. Metaphysics and History of Bombay, all of these were posted on WhatsApp to be circulated among the friend circles. The poem Mahakal though begins with it but encompasses in later Kaleshwar Shiva. So, you may now call it Mahakal Kaleshwar Shiva.
The Coleridgean poem could not be posted on as I could not patiently on the screen of the smart phone. So was the case with the weeping of the night and Bob Dylan. A few more poems have been excerpted in from here and there. I do not know what it the basic of inclusion. Why have I included in and left out? I do not want to close it by a Corona poem.

------Bijay Kant Dubey

Har Har Mahadev

Har har Mahadev,
Shiva Shankara,
Matted haired,
Blue-necked Shiva
Wandering over Kailash
The Yogi, Sadhu, Fakira,
Shiva Shiva,
Lord Shiva,
Shiva Sambhu,
Bhole Shankars.

Kamrupa Kamakhya Devi Temple

The Kamakhya temple,
The Nilachala hills,
The Brahmaputra,
The Tantra sadhna spot,
What to say it about
The said, unsaid,
The Yoni worship cult,
The Ambuvachi,
Shiva and Sati story
With the dead body over his shoulders
Shiva moving here and there
Unable to bear pain?

O, Dark Is Beautiful!

O, dark is beautiful,
Haven't you,
What it is,
What it was,
Dark is dark,
Let it be, let it be,
O, dark is beautiful,
The myths of Creation I know them not
So the tales of life wrapped in mystery,
What it is dark, let it be,
Dark is dark.

Into The Hands of The Poor Gypsy Girl

Into the hands of the poor gypsy girl,
Saw I,
Saw I a beautiful idol,
A beautiful idol of Vinayaka,
Siddhidayak Vinayaka,
Looking beautiful,
Beautiful no doubt,
Into the hands,
The hands of the gypsy girl,
The gypsy girl
Selling the statues,
Clutching along
When I saw them by the roadside
Living in tents
And making so artistic things.

Can You Say?

Can you say,
Can you,
Where the pathway,
The pathway of life
Leads to,
Where the pathway of life,
Can anybody,
Anybody ever tell me,
Tell me
Where the path,
The path of life goes to?

The Poor Indian Country Child And The Crow

The poor child of the poor country,
Half-fed, half-clothed for ever
Crying for stale bread and molasses
From his mother obstinately,
Holding the sari in the morning
When awaking and arising from sleep
But that too he seems to be struggling to grapple,
Compromising with a blackly crow
Casing from the rooftop, the tiled fringe of the wall
Sometimes closer to
Perched on the hanger of the courtyard
And trying to come down, alight from
To lift the bread away from
His older aluminium bowl
And the child trying his utmost best to drive it away
Which but goes it not,
Goes and comes, goes and comes time and again
But when unable to, failing to drive it away,
Giving a bit of loaf to the crow and taking it himself
And as thus giving and taking continues
In between the hungry child and the hungry crow.

How Lonely Am I!

How lonely am I on the path of life,
How lonely!
All alone came I here
And shall I,
Where my home,
What my address?
A loner am I
On the paths of life.

Just Like An Earthen Diya

It burnt it all
Just remained the ashes
With the navel burning it more
Emitting bluish light
Just like an earthen diya
Under starlit solitary skies.

Naga Panchami

Naga Panchami
Taking me to Naga myths,
Naga worship,
Snake charmers and other rituals,
The auspicious day to celebrate,
But my dosha I know it not myself.

The Pathway

Lying by the door,
I see the pathway
Leading to where,
The strangers taking to,
Going to their destination,
But my way,
Where will it me,
I do not?


Doors of dreams,
How to fold, unfold
The planks
Whatever wood they are made of
Or are from,
I do not want to discuss it
Who the carpenters,
Whose the house,
Who the renters,
Which but how to say it?
Doors of dreams,
Leading to where,
But to peep is to
Into its history,
The history of the house,
Who built it
And how were those who
Dwelt it inside
Down the terraces, corridors of ages gone by?


I haven't,
How is Shiva's abode,
The snow-covered peaks
With Mansarovar below,
Mount Kailash,
The blue waters
And the swans swimming,
How travellers passing by,
How people's and their cultures,
Mount Kailash am I speaking,
The history and geography of it
I know them not!

A Night Full of Stars

It's a night
Full of stars
But why am I alone
Underneath a lonely universe
So despondent and dejected
On the path of life
So desperately hoping
Against hope?

Cchinnamasta Kali

Cchinnamasta Kali,
What did it happen
That she severed her head,
What did it to the Mother Divine,
What did it
That did she so,
None but she severing her head
With her one hand
With the weapon,
I do not know what it ailed her,
What it marauds her self
The Tantrik Seat
At Rajarappa?

When A Child

When a small child,
My brother's and I used to run
After the ratha
Willing to pull the rope of the chariot
Of Jagannath, Balabhadra and Subhadra
But now the ratha
I can see it passing
But they are not.

The Lotus

The lotus,
The lotus opening,
The petals so dew-laden
Which it has not shaken,
Arising and awaking from a dormant state
To meditation
So full of bliss, serenity and wisdom
To be lost with.

The Time For To Go

Now the time for to go has come
And I too shall go away someday
You will search me,
But I shall not be there
To be found again,
Now the time has come,
I too shall go away someday
Just like them,
Like them as they have.

The Golden Oriole In My Backyard

In the garden
Behind the house
I hear the golden oriole
Singing so sweetly
The song
Which but I know it not,
Just can hear the notes
So melodious and musical,
The golden oriole
Behind my house
In the garden
Keeps it singing so sweetly sometimes.


Shiva Sambhu,
Mahakal Kaleshwar
Shiva Sambhu
Har Har Mahadev,
Gouri Shankar,
Bholenath Sambhu,
How to tell of
Adi Shankara
And Prakriti-Purusha
And the myth of creation?


Why do I often turn to it
Seeking refuge in,
To confide and repose in
What it was not,
What it is still not,
But I keep hankering after,
Taking to be own,
The philosophy of life,
The philosophy of the world?

Vishnu Temples

Vishnu temples
With the idols of Vishnu
Taking to Vishnu art and architecture,
I looking Narayan, Hari
In wonder and astonishment,
Let me be with the image
As I may not tomorrow.

The Black Motherly Pig with Piglets

The black motherly pig lying flat
By the roadside bushes
In a resting state
And the small piglets
Sucking the breasts of their kind mother.

A Rainy Day

It's a rainy day,
How clean and washed,
Ever fresh, ever new
It appears to be
All around,
The atmosphere and environment,
The waters running around,
It splashing over,
Rain drops falling
With a tap,
Sometimes it showering,
Sometimes drizzling,
How clear and clean is it everything!

Lost Love

Lost Love,
I feel your absence
When I see you not,
I feel for
When see I you not
When grief hangs it heavy
Upon my heart
And it aches a bit,
I turn to you,
Turn to you, my love,
Lost Love!

In your memory
Burn I,
Burn I like a candle
Burning and melting
And teardrops falling,
Falling silently,
Oh, why did I love,
What did I after loving,
What did it happen to my love,
Where did it go away
Cutting short?

King Harischandra As A Chandal Guarding The Ghat

When the whole world sleeps,
When the whole world,
You a chandal,
A chandal keeping late into the night
Standing guard of
For the cremation to be taken of,
The pyre to be allowed to burn,
Standing guard of,
Keeping late into the night,
Collecting taxes whatsoever
In terms of clothes, logs, grains or some money
When the world,
The whole world sleeps
Keep you awake, awake
Late into the night, the night
When the world,
The world, King Harishchandra in the form
Of a chandal guarding a ghat
And collecting taxes
And even not sparing his son and wife,
Son Rohit and wife Ssbya.

How Could You Be!

How could you,
Could you be
So hard,
Hard of heart
That tears,
Trickled it not,
How could you,
Could you
Be so hard,
Hard of heart
That tears,
Trickled it not,
Not the eyes
Flowing down the cheeks,
How hard of heart have we become,
Say you!


Indian villages
The dens of superstition,
Backwardness, illiteracy,
Poverty, inaction, fatalism,
And above all, litigation,
Quarrels, friction and feud,
Property disputes
Never did I like,
Never did I appreciate it.

The Paths

The paths,
The paths of life,
Where do they go to,
Where do they take to
The paths,
The paths of life
And man as a traveller
Just going on
The paths,
The paths of life.

The Towns

The towns,
The cities
I just see them
And think about
Who made them,
How did they grow up,
What their goodness, what their negative impact,
And to add to the point,
Above all, where are they going,
Where are the townsmen, the citymen
After their odds and ends?

The River

The river,
Where does it come from
And where does it go to
Babbling, murmuring,
Taking to its course
Coming from the highlands,
Going down the fields and fallows
Flowing and floating
To mingle with the sea,
The river
Originating from the hills
Going down the plains
To meet with.

Gone Festive Time

There was a time
When they used to be around
Talking about the festivity
Of Lord Vishwakarma's arrival
Now there is none to celebrate
And share the joy
Which never seemed to end,
But now bereft of all
How lonely stand I here!

The Free Fire-ians

Wherever go I, find I surrounded
By the Free Fire-ians
Firing indiscriminately,
Taking weapons,
Running for cover
And positions
And firing to respond and repulse
The attack,
Moving ahead, hiding beneath,
Running to cover
Even by climbing the top,
Hurling grenades,
Let the time come
If face to face with the enemy
Ready to kill with the hand too,
All for damage,
Levels, Diamond, Heroic,
Medals of honour
Or for bravery, guts shown,
Played, time passed,
Did you understand?

A Part of Nature

I am a part of Nature,
The shroud and silence of it,
The beauty and mystery of it,
My ways leading through the forest,
Rocks, hills and trees,
I am a part of the silence
Prevailing in fields and fallows,
I am the spirit, soul of silence
Wandering with the wind howling by
So playfully,
I am mystery, mystery unravelled,
I am the dark gloom
Of the mountainous ranges
And my pathway lost into
The tracts unknown.

My Things

What is my own,
What was it in the past,
What is it now,
What will it be,
Where am I going,
What am I for?

Buddha In Meditation

I see the art and craft,
The sculpture,
Just the torso
So artistic and dreaming,
Buddha in meditation,
The eyes closed,
Appearing to be half-awake, half-sleep
Which but understand I it not
Buddha in meditation,
Dreaming and dwelling far
Into the realms unknown,
Goutam Buddha.
Just like a lotus closed up
And the petals
Seemingly closing and opening both,
Do serene and calm
But beaming with joy,
Radiating with light.

Covid Hospital

A Covid Hospital,
Patients coming and going,
Nobody aware of,
But risking their lives
They treating them,
Serving humanity selflessly.


People talk about MLAs and MPs,
All the time
Taking their names, living by them,
I think,
How can it be,
Have the politicians only built India
And nobody else?

Poor Drinkers

I pity the poor drinkers
Over joyous with drinking
And the bottle in hand
As for intoxication
Doing the matal dance,
Drinking to full
Staggering and babbling by
And lying fallen by the roadside
Telling of misery and hardship
The family is facing
And the administration lost in
Collecting excise duties and taxes
Rather than treating the addicts,
How ruthless are we,
Have you at least about?

Jackal Love

I see the grey jackals
Like man,
Crying and calling
In such a way
That confuse I,
But the jackals calling,
Leaving their habitats
Hounding the waste heaps
Of human surroundings and areas
To search for food.

How Would Have Milton Paradise Lost?

Milton, how did he
Paradise Lost,
Burning midnight lamp,
Gripped with poetic fever and frenzy,
Plucking stars
And clutching along
Dealing with Original Sin,
Man's story of temptation
And fall from heaven,
How did he,
Did he losing eyesight
With Satan pitted against God,
The rebel as a hero
Dictating to his daughters?

Drinkers' Families

Have you thought about
The drinkers' families,
How do they struggle
To survive through
The adverse situations of life,
The unwanted trouble and misery to bear with,
Unnecessary tribulations to take,
How to cope up drunkenness and loitering,
Staggering and talking of nonsense,
How to deal with mindless inebriation,
Brawl, altercation, fracas,
Quarrel, abuses and fighting,
On the one hand they collecting excess taxes,
Levying on
To spend on good governance
While on the other drunkards' families ruining,
There is none to come forward
And help them,
Should there not any checks to deter them
From over drinking
Rather than fining for?

The Arrival of Bhagavati

Have you heard,
Mother is coming,
Haven't you,
Mother is coming,
Mother Bhagavati,
All telling,
Telling about,
Mother Bhagavati
Is coming,
Nature and the skies,
The dew-laden seuli blooms,
The kash white grassy blooms
Bhagavati is coming.

Haven't you
Heard the steps
Bhagavati is coming,
Mother Bhagavati?

Haven't you
The anklets,
The anklets resounding,
Breaking the lull of silence,
The midnightly silence
As if someone were
With the Divine glare and glaze,
The tinkle of sound
And the atmosphere so aromatic with
And the stars so mystically full of twinkles,
Haven't you,
The Arrival of Bhagavati?

The Eyes

The Eyes,
The Eyes Divine
So artfully crafted and chiselled
Curvy and mystical,
Supernatural and beautiful
The Eyes,
The Eyes Divine
Of the Mythical, Mystical She,
The Supernatural Divine,
The Goddess of Universe,
The Womb of Creation,
Jagatjanani, Jagannamata,


The Lord of the Nagas
And the mystical cobra
Taking the test,
Shiva dhyana-yoga
Do you dhyana,
Japa to find Him,
Shiva Nageshwara,
Nagamani but Chintamani,
The gemstone of sadhna
Endowed with,
Nagamani but mystical
Gemstone light,
The light mystical
Born out of Shiva dhyana.

N.B. Nageshwara Shiva

Shiva Tandava, Art & Artefact

An artefact
Shiva Tandava,
And divine.

The Mystic Dance of Doom

Cataclysmic and ceational
Which but only Nature can say it about,
The gods can feel the vibes.

N.B. Busting the myth


Shiva lingam,
Blackly Shiva lingam
Of black basalt,
And light-emitting
And blissful,
Offer you your prayers
Pouring water, milk, belapatra
And others.

N.B. Shiva, I did not, you did not
Know it
The myth of Shiva
And if it is unknown,
Let it be,
It be
The myth of Shiva.

Having Drunk, I Can See

Having drunk,
I can see them quarelling,
The poor wife so helpless,
God knows what it to befall,
How will she face it all alone
With the baby girl in her lap,
I do not know
What will it the drunkard
Fighting, abusing, quarrelling,
Staggering and falling
In drunkenness,
My God, what it to befall the family
As none to bail out?


O Muraliwale, Krishna-Kanhaiya,
Where you playing the flute,
In which arbour,
Bower of bliss
That the tunes breaking,
The Divine Tunes,
O you, Muraliwale,
Where you playing the tunes,
The Divine Tunes
And the notes,
The golden notes breaking,
Shyam, your flute calling,
Shyam, your flute,
The Divine Flute
Taking to cooler shades
Of infatuation, hallucination, illusion
Chhaya and maya
And Radha under the spell of
Giving an ear to the way
The music is coming,
The melody is breaking from
And running to
With the searching looks!

Who Has Now Time To Read Poetry?

Who has time to read poetry
As what can it give in reality,
What the function of it,
Can it save life,
Can it give food?
The answer is clearly no,
Poetry cannot,
It is just feeling and emotion
Of the sensible heart,
So much sensitive and sentimental.
Now the crisis takes as for
Why did I take to poetry,
What did I get from unnecessary brooding,
Why did I take to writing,
Why did I turn into,
What can poetry really give to humanity?

Corona Time

How has corona virus changed
Our life and times,
How has it affected and infected us,
How has it our?

Everything but a private
And personal affair,
Be it marriage ceremony
Or funeral ceremony,
None can who will be with?

Restrict you festivity too,
Invite you not so many,
The funeral may be without
Own kith and kin,
The heart is the temple of God.

How Is The Mother?

Go and tell,
How the Mother,
The Mother Divine is,
Mother Kali,
You go in and see
And then say it to me,
What did you see,
How did you feel
And finally how is She? ,
Ramkrishna Paramhansa to Narendra,
Later Swami Vivekananda.

After The Rains

How the things look fresh
After the rains,
Fresh shower of rains,
Rain drops falling, splattering,
Dirt being washed away
And it looking clean and fresh,
The ways, trees and things around,
The day too cloudy and rainy
And the waters running
Taking to their course
With a musical murmur.

God Is The Father of All, God Is Fathering

Has nothing to eat,
No source of income
To support the family
And is saying,
God is giving
And just with this
Goes on fathering
One child after another
And that too after being unmindful of
The health of the skeleton mother
Whose bones you may count
At one go without a hitch
And he saying,
Saying that
God is giving,
He is not,
He the Giver of all.

For Kamini

A night full of kaminis
Scattered around,
Stars in twinkles,
The black bee hovering around,
Dew drops falling
And everything under the shroud
So chilly and misty too
To dream about
O my Kamini,
My dream girl
Who catches my fancy and imagination!

Terracotta Temples

Terracotta temples,
Made from small-small red bricks
And lime clay
With the terracotta baked plates
Fitted upon with sculptures,
Taking me back
To an age gone by.

Kali, The Myth of Kali

The myth of Kali,
I could not,
Could not understand,
Understand it,
The myth and mystery,
The myth of creation,
The mystery of life,
Why is she in such a stance,
Why is she dark,
Why wearing a wreath of man-heads,
Of the sinners, demons beheaded and slain,
Why she feeling shame
With Shiva under her feet,
Why did she suck blood
And get ashamed of,
I do not,
I do not,
Had somebody the myth of Kali,
I would have from!

I Saw It Being Pulled Down

There was a grand building
Of the British time
Again saw I it lying abandoned
For decades and decades
And again I saw the bulldozers pulling it
The heritage building, the historical house
Dating back to, long back
And the land sharks even pulling
The abandoned terracotta Vishnu temple
With the clay-baked, sculptural plates
Decorating entrance, outer walls,
But there is none to tell of history and date
And everything but forgotten.

Buddha In Meditation, Where Is He, O, White Lotus?

O white lotus,
Can you,
Can you tell me
About the Buddha
With the closed eyes
So calm and serene
And blissful
And peace endowing,
O white lotus,
Have you,
Have you seen
The Buddha
Lost in meditation?


Before calling others bad,
See you
If you are good,
Are you not bad,
Before calling others,
See you,
See you yourself
If you are not
Before calling,
Calling others bad,
See you,
See you it
If you are not,
Are you really good,
So good
With no mistakes of yours,
No faults indeed,
Not a bad man,
But good, good,
Very good?

History of Man

The history of man,
How was he,
How were the conditions of his,
How were his experiences felt from time to time,
But since when has he been
And what the purpose behind it,
An unknown history, a saga of life,
How the history of man,
The story of his footfall
And the start of it all,
But how the history of his life?

History of Earth

The history of earth,
How was it,
How was the shape of things,
When was life born,
How the things got to,
How to say to?

Is it a planet
Or a graveyard, a cemetery
Where man is buried
Or is it a crematorium
Where the dead is cremated,
The pyre is lit and burnt
And we are but playthings, claythings?

History of Time

The history of time,
You do not know it,
I do not,
Time cosmic, time mechanical,
How the clock of the world,
The clock of time,
How the ticking history?

Time's history,
With the time,
For the time,
Everything but in the clutch of time,
The clock goes it ticking,
But what about the history of it?

We Are But Claythings, Playthings

We are but playthings,
Of time
To be shaped and re-shaped,
Made from clay,
Made and re-made,
An earthen oil burning
To be put out, extinguished
Struggling with the wind
To be sniffed out,
Almost puppets into
The Hands of Destiny
From which there is no escape
As it the Destiny of Man,
The Divine Will ordained as thus.

When Out of House, Man of The Paths

When out of house,
Man is of the way,
One way leading to many ways,
Which knows he not
Nor sure of their endways
Where they will lead to
When out of house,
Man of the paths, ways transgressing,
And the crossroads baffling
With the dilemma
Which way to take, which not?

Dust To Dust, Clay To Clay

My father turned to dust,
My mother turned to,
My aunt turned to,
My youngest brother turned to,
My eldest brother
And now it is time to return,
The body of clay and dust,
How to keep it?

Vishnu Art And Sculpture

A stone sculpture of Vishnu
Found from the river bed
Telling of his avatars,
Vishnu art,
Sculpture and figurine,
Vishnu temples and statue-making.
Who made them,
How were they,
The artisans and sculptors,
Who Vishnu temples,
Art and architecture?

The Snake Charmers

The snake charmers,
Poor snake charmers of India,
How did they keep entertaining
With their daredevilry,
How did they keep playing the wooden been music,
Flirting with the cobras
And other venomous snakes,
Risking their Ives,
Doing the acrobatic skill,
The sleight of hand,
Singing the song in good faith,
Taking the name of the Naga God,
Invoking the spirit
Opening the bamboo baskets
Containing venomous snakes,
Believing in hocus-pocus,
Magic and herbal remedies,
But nobody knows
How did they too get frustrated
In playing with the deadly reptiles,
The charmers,
Poor snake charmers of India.

For The Lawyer

For the lawyer
The whole world is a criminal
Standing in the decks
And he the lone judge
Turning over the book of law,
Keeping his hand not on his heart,
Drawing from dhamma,
But the soul of jurisprudence missing
From his argument,

A Poor Small Girl

A poor small girl,
Her husband has left,
Now what will she do it now,
Where will she go,
Say you?
The doors are closed for her,
No ways to move on,
None to be with as a wayfarer,
Alone, all alone on the path of life,
Going it alone, fearing and going,
Oh, the poor girl with the baby in her hands!

The Sighting of Porcupines By The Foothills

When a child
While passing through the hills
Stopped I near the foothills
On marking porcupines,
Looking from the wholes,
With the spikes over the body
Which stood it outside
Fearing some external danger
But the next time when I visited
Found I not the porcupines
Nor the hills
Bereft of all that I saw it then.

The Desire of Sculpting The Idols of Bhagavati

Since my childhood
I have been cherishing,
Nurturing the dream of
Chiselling, sculpting out of clay
An idol,
An idol of Bhagavati,
But have not been able to do it
While on the other
The time too had come
As for going
And now putting aside
The long-cherished, the long-nurtured dream
Kept alive in my bosom
Want I just to have
A glimpse of her
Before I go away.

On Being Alone

Had been alone,
Alone am I,
Alone shall I be,
This but know
As such the path of life
And the world
Where man a traveller
Of the paths
Taking turns and curves
And diversions ahead.

Our India

Agrarian, rural, countrified,
So varied and different
Stretching from the seas
To the mountainous fringes
Encompassing plains to deserts
To plateaus
Had been old
Carrying on conventional things
Had been fatalistic and inactive
Dependent on gods and fate
Rather than science and technology,
Logic and reason as to be our guide
Divided in between caste, creed, class and community,
We had nothing to reason
What the elders said it,
We believed it right or wrong
And our literature too was oral
Living a village life
With nothing to read or keep
Sleep you on the mat
Without light, fans
In the mud house
So humid and dark
Without books, pens and note-books,
Medicines and proper care
Living a neglected life
Without any personal liberty and freedom.

On Marking A Young Burqa-clad Mistress

A burqa-clad
Young maiden
Saw I at the bus-stop
Just with a cursory glance
Taking a bird's eye view
Of the young maiden
She passing by
And I doing the photography
Of the strange maiden,
The young mistress,
My love lady, dream girl
Making a portrait of her,
Peeping into
To finish it.


What is this freedom,
What does it mean,
Who is actually free,
Who can it be,
Who has the right to enjoy,
Can one go
Where the spirit may fly to,
Can one
Where the mind can,
Can one
Where the heart dwells in,
I do not understand who is free
And to what extent,
What freedom is,
Can I do what I want to do?
Freedom is not what you take to,
What I mean by it,
Freedom is something different from
What we think about.

Are we really free,
If yes, to what extent,
What is it freedom
And how free
Are we in life?
Freedom is not what you,
What do I take it for,
Freedom is but an escape
From bondage.


How to have tryst with
Without knowing,
No, no, Gandhi not,
But Gandhigiri,
With Gandhi in heart and soul not,
But wearing khadi clothes
In a modern style,
Trying to copy
For fashion and apparel designing,
Reading from his works
To represent
When fed up with modernism
Returning to pure diet,
Herbal extracts,
Satya, ahimsa and shantih
Going for long walks
All for promotion?

O Death, Come And Talk To Me!

O death, you come
And talk to me
As have not I held
Any parleys with you,
Any dialogue,
You come
And talk to me
To get it sent across
How will it be my end,
O death, many a day
Have I slept,
Slept and forgotten
To awake it again,
But fear I it most
As for how will it be
My death, my end,
This is but which tortures my self
As for to think,
How will it be my death?

My Mistress' Cheeks

Had the seulis,
Fragrant seulis
Been the cheeks
Of my mistress,
How lovely it would have been
Had seulis,
Fragrant seulis been
The cheeks of my mistress,
The dream girl in waiting,
The beauty queen been
The lady,
The lady love
Of mine,
A beauty so fragrant,
So redolent and aromatic
Just like,
Like Rajanigandha
Standing with a bouquet
Of flowers to give.

The Grey Mongoose

The mongoose
Grizzled and grey
Just like a mole,
Not a hedgehog,
Crossing the bushy ways
Ever ready to take on dreaded snakes,
The mongoose
Grey and grizzled
And grotesque and bizarre
Telling the tales of the bushes
And snakes
And its taking on.

Lost Love

Lost Love,
I still think of you
As I have not you,
Whenever I think you
And the memories of yours
Sadden me,
Tears well up in the eyes
And fall down
In your remembrance,
I try to wipe them out
Hiding from the world
So that it may not mark
And keep burning like a candle
Melting and melting!
Is this called love,
Is this love, Lost Love,
Is love the name of burning
And waiting for?

Do Not Try To Know Me

I want it you do not know me
Nor shall I try to be,
Let me, let me
In to be unknown,
You do not know me
Nor do I
And if I, I may you
But you will not me,
I just want to see
What it to be unknown,
Do they ever try to know
What it is truth,
What it reality
None knew,
None strove to know it!

So Open To Criticism

I am open to criticism
Whichever way it may come to,
Open to criticism,
Criticize me frankly,
Without fearing me
So that a critique may be done
So attempting and constructive,
Criticism for criticism's sake,
Must be bold and daring in attempt.


Matter and mass,
Spirit and mind
And metaphysics,
What is matter, what is mass,
How the metaphysics,
Which is whose,
What is from where,
I do not know,
What is from where,
I do not know,
Who there to explain
The unexplainable?
Mass, matter, mind, spirit,

Burn Like A Lamp For Others, Struggling With The Gusts Of The Wind

A lamp
Is this life,
Burn, burn for others
Not for you yourself,
Is this life,
But if extinguishes it, I fear
Struggling with the gusts of the wind
As it may not?

History of Bombay

The historical past,
The maritime history of India
None took a note of,
None strove to know about
The shipwrecks and misadventures,
None took to
The sailors, shipmen, navigators,
Boatmen and fishermen,
Their version of history
Rather than the otherwise history of India

The history of Bombay,
The colonial past of
In terms of the arrival of the Europeans,
How to interpret it
The contribution of a foreigner engineers and builders,
How to say about the isles and islets,
The landmass separated geographically,
How did it the landfill?

How did they Mumba Devi,
The temple of it,
Who the Kolis,
Where the ancient replicas and relics
By the sea,
Engraved upon the rocks?

Have You The Weeping And The Sad Whisper Of The Night?

Have you,
Have you heard
The weeping,
The weeping
Of the night,
Dew drops falling,
Shrouded in mystery,
Blanketed with
A mystical cover
And the sound,
The sound of weeping
Coming in
A muffled and muted tone?

Have you,
Have you
Heard the weeping,
The weeping of the night,
The night
In a muffled,
Muffled and muted
The night weeping,
And you,
Heard it not,
Heard it not?

It is dark,
Dark around,
The scenario is all
Draped in silence,
Bewitching silence,
An eerie silence keeps
Pervading the spirit,
Everything but enveloped in darkness
And gloom
Under the cover of mystery,
The shroud of,
Stars in twinkle
And she weeping,
Her lashes,
Lashes smeared,
Smeared with tear drops
Falling silently.

The hamlets
Far flung, scattered over
The landscape
Unknown and invisible,
Nature hanging heavy over
With its folds, realms
And it looking dark and gloomy,
Where to go, where not
Groping in the dark
Is the night,
The night weeping,
In tears,
Tear drops falling down,
Have you,
Have you heard,
The weeping,
The weeping
Of the night,
The night?

The mysteries of the world,
How to say,
What it ails the night,
The nightly lady
Wearing the satin brocade
Bespangled with stars twinkling
And the moon as the bindi
Over the forehead
Bedecking her,
How the myths and mysteries
Unknown to us,
Never unwinding,
The small-small aspirations of man,
Little-little man,
How the litter of hamlets
Dotting the space
Whose whereabouts so unknown,
How the cry, shriek of living,
How the stress and distress of it,
How the tales of poverty, hunger, underdevelopment
Doing the rounds,
Raking us badly?

Have you,
Have you heard,
The weeping,
The weeping
Of the night,
The night,
How the voices raking us,
The voices of pain and pine,
Yearning and pathos
And trouble,
How the throes and pangs
Of hers,
Have you,
Have you,
If not,
Go and hear you,
You to say it to me?

Children Talking About Animals In The Park

In the park
By the pond
Saw I
The bear, the kangaroo,
The panda,
The elephant,
The gorilla
And the children
Talking about
All but cemented
And artificially presented.

The World Of Glamour

And glam girls,
What to say about,
Beauty parlour, cosmetics, fashion and apparel design,
Body spray, perfume, hair oil
And cosmetics?

N.B. Start from the title taking it to be a part of the poem.

The Drinkers And Their Mind-Set

The drinkers
I do not know it
Why do they quarrel
After taking wine,
Is it their nature
Or just under spirit
After getting inebriated,
They go on falling,
For wine
They can sell it all,
Belongings and assets,
For bad company and bad habit,
Intoxication and liquor
Even can sell their wives,
The drinkers mind-set,
How tougher is it to handle?

A Lonely Covid Hospital

A lonely Covid Hospital
By the roadside
I saw the ambulances
Coming and going
With the patients

Struggling to survive
And the campus wearing
A deserted look
Telling of the virus
And its infection, affectation,
Corona and the crisis
Overtaking us as an epidemic.

Bob Dylan With The Guitar Performing

Bob Dylan with the guitar
Striking the chords
Singing the song
The pop, jazz, rock n' roll,
Chapel, folk

As song-writer,
A musician,
A composer,
A guitarist-singer,
Dylan, Bob Dylan

Into the high heeled boots,
Hat, coat, pants,
Cowboy hat,
Singing the song,

The song of America,
Going by the vibes,
Catching time and spirit,
American speech,
Nuances and idiosyncrasies

Bob Dylan with the guitar,
The guitar glowing,
Striking the chords, chords
And the chords cackling

Carrying on a tradition,
A tradition of music,
Pop, jazz, solo,
Chapel, folk and country,
A rhythm of speech,
Speech poetical

But he hesitated,
Hesitated in accepting
The Nobel
As for his songs
If those poems really
And can songs be poems?

Lost Love

When in a pensive mood
Of reflection,
I turn to you, Lost Love,

When sad and sombre
To think of you!

Mahesh Yogi

Maharishi Mahesh Yogi,
The founder of Transcendental Meditation Centres
And the guru of the Beatles, Beach Boys,
The popularizer of meditational ways
As for how to get mental peace, solace and happiness,
Freeing oneself from stress, anxiety and stain,
Imparting mental peace and internal happiness?

Coleridge, How Could He About Indian Vishnu?

Indian Vishnu,
How could he imagine about,
Paint and picture him
Seated on a lotus
Floating in the ocean,
Often in a cosy style
Sleeping to pass time
But waking it sometimes
When jolted by
To view creation.

"I should much wish, like the Indian Vishna, to float along an infinite ocean cradled in the flower of the Lotus, and wake once in a million years for a few minutes - just to know that I was going to sleep a million years more."

― Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Shraddha, pinda daan
And tarpan for the bereaved,
Forefathers and ancestors,
Dead family members,
Parents, gods, rishis
During Pitru Paksha
For their peace and appeasement
And their onward journey to,
The time is drawing to a close.

Offering of holy waters to the dead,
The dead ancestors, forefathers,
Gods and rishis,
To the dead family members
In their memory and remembrance,
The tarpan after the shraddha ritual
And the pinda daan.

The Dark Black Leg of Kali--A Replica

The Dark Black Leg of Kali,
The nails painted white,
Just the Leg,
But ankleted
A replica, an artifact
So dark but lovely.

The Eyes of Bhagabati

The Eyes,
The Eyes Divine of Bhagabati
So curvy and cursory,
I saw them chiselling
So magical and artistic
As if She were to speak!


Mahalaya is coming,
Devi Paksha yet to begin,
Do you not hear the anklets
Haven't, haven't you
The arrival of Bhagabati?

The Chandipatha will rake
The nights with
The mantras chanted
And the aroma coming
From dew-laden flowers.

Remembering Him On Gandhi Jayanti

I knew him not,
I understood him not,
But instead of
The portrait of his
Overshadowing me,
I moving under
The reflection of his.

On Gandhi Jayanti
Gandhi when he was,
When he is not,
How the difference!

The old man as a votary
Of truth, non-violence and peace,
A worshipper of satya, ahimsa and shantih.

Sikkim-Bhutia Girls

Sikkim-Bhutia girls,
Their culture, folk clothing,
Dance patterns, life-style,
Climatic conditions,
Food habits,
I know it not
Nor do I their speech and tongue,
The local dialect use they,
Sikkim-Bhutia girls.


How did pain
Rake it me
You knew it not
Nor did you care to know
My pain,
The pain of my heart?

Jagadhatri Music

From whom the universe is held,
From whom the universe is created,
From whom the universe is reared
I salute, salute
That Mahamaya, Mahamedha, Mahasmriti,
Kalratri, Maharatri, Moharatri,
Yogamaya, Bhagabati!

The Chandipatha

Taking me far
And I getting lured to
By the incantation,
The rising and falling pitch
Of the sound,
The thud of the sound,
Classical vocal and syllabic speech
Taking me over,
Purging from my inward
And I feeling it
Sacrosanct, sacred,
The bliss of spell and pronunciation,
How benedictory can it be sound and speech,
Feeling about the alphabet of Sanskrit
Draped in invocation and peace of mind and heart!


What would she have happened,
Gone over her heart
When she came to know,
Prince Sidhartha left the palace
For to be a bhikshuka?

The pains, pains of her heart,
The world knew it not,
Felt it not the pains, pains of
Queen Yasodhara and child Rahul!

How would have tears welled up in
The royal eyes and trickled down
The innocent cheeks,
How would it have, would it have?

Yasodhara, Yasodhara,
The heart understanding it not,
But the counsel consoling the broken self
As he has for the betterment of mankind.


The Night of Shiva,
The marriage night of Shiva,
Shiva as bridegroom going to marry
And the party consisting of all,
Exotic flora and fauna commemorating it all,
Nature too partaking in the celebrations.

The bridegroom on a bull,
The yogi, sadhaka, fakira
With a trishula and a kamandala
Going, wearing the tiger leather loin cloth
And with the three ash lines on the forehead
And the sacred thread over the body to Parvati's house.

The groom irrespective of love for gems and jewels
Keeping company of tigers, moneys, bears,
Ghosts and goblins and winds going
After being unmindful of what the people say it about
With the snake around the neck
Rounded and the hair lying matted
With the crescent by the side of.

When about to be received, the royal guests
Feeling awe-struck and aghast to see the groom
Dressed as a saint, yogi, sadhu, fakira
With the hair matted, blue neck
And the snake rounded around
And they thinking within
As for how to receive the groom?

What Has Covid?

Maintain you social distancing,
Physical distance,
Mix you not with all,
Handshake you not,
Hug you not,
Come you not closer to

Wear a mask,
Use you a sanitizer,
Come you not into the contact of,
Wash your face and hands frequently,
Keep an eye over health and hygiene.

Journey you not,
Take you healthy diet,
Milk, fruits and so on,
Try herbal things, seasonal fruits.

Why do you bother to attend?
Work from home,
But with all of your heart,
The digital platform is open for virtual meetings,
Online sessions.

Who is your relative,
You cannot say it
As who will be with you
At the time of your death,
None can say it?

What to say about the Covid protocol,
It is a matter of immunity,
Survival strategies?

The hospital staff, the nursing staff
The people to hear
The will and testament, dying declarations
And who else besides them?

Those who serve them,
Those who take care of them,
At least think of them too
Who without fearing the virus keeps serving.

Have you ever of the people
Who fell ill serving them,
Who lost their lives in the service of
The virus infected,
Have you ever?

If not, think of them,
Think of them who serve selflessly
Without caring for name and fame,
Bothering about their families,
Sparing a minute, think of them too.

Covid-19, how did it infect, affect
The people through contact,
How did the disease spread it
Taking a troll over,
Claiming lives?

The virus turned into an epidemic not,
But a pandemic
Spreading world-wide from China's Wuhan
To Spain, Italy and so on,
The deadly virus.

Bijay Kant Dubey 11 October 2021

Enchanting and short verses attract and impress...lyrics in memory of your brother are intense, inspiring and humane. A memorable journey from relation to philosophic pondering to religious thoughts......your message is timely. PCK Prem on Latest Poems

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Bijay Kant Dubey 11 October 2021

Enchanting and short verses attract and impress...lyrics in memory of your brother are intense, inspiring and humane. A memorable journey from relation to philosophic pondering to religious thoughts......your message is timely.

0 0 Reply
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