My Poetry Classroom Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

I used to write poems
In a straw-thatched hut
Under the bela trees
Adjoining the cowshed,
Under the moonlit nights
Sitting on a dry riverbed
Full of sands
Away from the stream of little waters
Flowing at the middle
During the hot summer,
I used to write
Going atop the hills
And sitting on a rock,
I used to
On the grey rock lying
In the midst of the narrow rivulet
Of the plateau region
Passing in between the hills,
I used to
While grazing buffaloes and cows
Lowing over the fields and fallows
With the bells round the neck
Tinkling, lulling the landscape,
While visiting the graveyard
Lying in the secluded tract
Leading to the country,
A little away from the town way,
Sitting in a bower
Sometimes accompanied
By my youngest brother,
Sometimes in the woodland
Stopping by the way
To catch the scenic view of it,
Sometimes during the summer midday
O used to write after stopping under
A lonely gulmohar tree
Of the solitary red soiled way
Leading to farms,
Sometimes in the library
Reading books, seeing olden works,
The lonely leafless palash tree, but clustered
With reddish, orange blooms,
Sometimes after seeing the vultures
Seated atop the leafless simul trees
But decorated with bulging red blossoms.