I did not write you down in poetry
Least my readers discover you badly-
Pleading my poetic weakness;
I did not paint your face on canvas
Frequent raining on paddy seeds reports that the monsoon is coming,
And forces the green jamuns and yellow dates for ripening.
Behold for their own mellow fruits none waits for the birds' invitation
The dancing, prancing and divine little lambs run to the dropping destination.
The art of twisting,
The art of concealing
The art of reversing
The art of throwing people
I was in a market on some day,
Suddenly I felt I am hungry such,
As if no problem was even on raw hay.
We were present anyhow on the fine place
(It was an International Forensic Team) ,
Mountains were sympathetic to us.
At the stony place it was an evil juxtaposition