Bijay Kant Dubey Son Poems

His father had not been an Englishman,
Born in India,
One from Asia,
But he,
...

He will come smoking ganja
And will beat me,
He will come drinking
And will beat me
...

Maya my wife,
Maya my son, my daughter,
Maya my life, my world,
Maya my house.
...

Be sure of it, mama,
I’ll send you to the old age home
As who look after you,
Nurse you,
...

O policeman, beat you not the other man's son,
If you've to,
Beat you your own son
And having beaten him, you will feel it
...

Villain Sir,
Touch I your feet,
Hold I your boots to say,
Do you your cinematic roles
...

A fanatic's son you cannot change
His thinking
As he is fanatical genetically
And fanaticism inherited from,
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Terrorist,
Terrorist,
Whose son are you,
Who your mother,
...

A villain got he the awards for his acting,
But turned he my son into a real villain,
A villain he scaling the heights of fame,
But my son a rambler, a loafer, a goon
...

The fanatic's son will remain a fanatic,
Cannot be a liberal
Which but I am sure of
Whether you are or are not,
...

Terrorist, whose son are you,
Who the parents of yours,
Where do you come from,
I mean the place you hail from,
...

If your son turns into a bad boy,
What to be done with,
Which but the judge cannot feel it
The pains of some other father
...

On the teachers' day,
I repenting
For having not taught
My son
...

My father had been a telephone man,
Now I a mobile man
Doing hello-hello
Mounting a telephone pole
...

If your son is a smoker,
Has taken to smoking
And hears he not,
What can you
...

If your son has taken to drinking
And has turned into a drinker
Then be sure of it
Everything will finish it
...

If your son is a goon
Criminal-like
Rough and tough,
Rude and naughty
...

If your son is a bad boy,
Not a good boy,
But a bad boy,
A very bad boy,
...

My ganjeri son,
Where lie you
Smoking,
Piping in
...

My son, you try to be a good boy
And if you are good,
The world is yours,
Yours,
...

With a counter,
A chamber and an ante-chamber for note counting,
He the Acharya's, Indian astrologer,
Horoscope-makers' son
...

Why do they keep saying
The older men and women,
The menfolk and womenfolk
Praying as thus,
...

Meraa daru-pinewalla beta,
Tum kahan ho, tum kahan ho,
Mera beta?
Piyo, magar kam piyo,
...

I know it well
He will not let me
Live in the house,
He will surely turn me out
...

My drinker son,
Where are you
Lying fallen?
...

If he is after wine,
What to say?
What can a father do
If his son takes to not
...

I could not believe,
Believe it
That,
That my son,
...

With my drunkard son,
How to pass my time,
My God
With my drunkard son
...

My son
In my old age
Will not be
Attending
...

My son
Who cannot be called good
Will one day
Turn me out
...

My son not my own
Which but I am not sure of it
Whether he will foo to me
In my old age
...

Whoever punishes, judges on the basis
Of chastity or purity,
Chaste or unchaste character
Is but mistaken
...

My piyakkad,
Badmash
Daru-pineiwalla,
Goonda boy
...

Where does your son go to?
Maybe he smoking ganja,
Maybe taking he drugs,
Maybe at the ale-house!
...

A fanatic's son
Will be a fanatic
Whether you send him
To Cambridge or Oxford,
...

Having got a beating
At the hands of the son,
Feel I,
How villainous is
...

The villain of the theatre,
Make you not
My son
Turn into
...

Villain Sir,
Touch I your feet,
Hold I your boots to say,
Do you your cinematic roles
...

A fanatic's son will be a fanatic,
You cannot change that,
Cannot change
His gene and genetics,
...

If your son turns into a bad boy, how will you take it
If if your son turns into a bad boy,
A spoilt child,
How will you take to it
...

Be sure of it, mama,
My dear mom, mummy,
I shall send you,
Send you to the old man home
...

The poet is calling himself a scholar
Keeping his son a fool,
Walking erect,
Strutting and walking on tip-toe
...

Mr.Fanatic,
Is your son Mr.Terrorist?

And it is none
...

Papa says that the son will make a name,
But the destination of his
None but the pap's lovely one knows it,
How spoilt has he become
...

The poet’s son under police custody and lock-up,
And the poet lost in writing poetry,
Under the ganja of poesy,
Smoking and puffing in
...

The poet too is not less than a politician
As because whether he knows it or not
But asks others to call him a scholar
At the cost of the domestic front,
...

My father used to say, my son, you always keep a low profile,
Never boast of that
You write,
Never be proud of your poetic talent,
...

My son, your dad is not your dad,
Just a dad for sometime more,
A statue of dust and clay am I
To disintegrate finally.
...

Ma, ma, ma, your son
They have turned into an addict,
Ma, ma, ma, your son,
They have tunred into an addict
...