There Was A Time Of Dacoits, Indian Dacoits Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

I am coming,
Coming,
Get ready for,
The dacoits used to sometimes
Get the message sent through
Or an unnamed post-card reaching us
To communicate
I am coming,
Coming,
Get ready for,
People used to live in fear
As for the suspense and fear
He is coming,
Coming,
When will he
And with what people
And what arms
And how will they be
Under what state?

Changing the guise,
Sometimes as spies,
Messengers, strangers
Or relatives,
Loners strayed far,
Travellers,
They used to come
During the night-time
Banging the door,
Barging into,
Breaking open
With the axes
And the swords brandishing
At the gun point,
Jewelry snatched,
Asking for keys of the treasury
Threatening to kill.

The dacoits,
Indian dacoits,
Turbaned and mustached,
Curly mustached,
The sardar asking for
And commanding,
The people under house arrest
Roped with the pillars
On the waist
And the dacoits looting,
Looting the valuables,
Gold, silver, copper, pewter
And other valuables,
But how to inform,
The police stations far away
From villages or secluded places?

There was a time,
A time of dacoits,
Indian dacoits
Whop used to come,
Come
On seeing the pucca houses,
Wealthy people,
Agriculturists and farm-men
To loot the cemented houses
Of the town suburbs
Somewhat far from,
Lonely or secluded
And the people going to the top
Closing the door
Shouting and crying,
Hiding in and running for cover.

When we were poor,
So poor and underdeveloped
They used to frequent
As the towns and cities too
Were not many in number
And the places were secluded,
Forested and lonely,
They used to come,
Come
Covering the faces,
Masking themselves,
The dacoits,
Indian dacoits,
Turbaned and mustached,
Curly mustached.