poetry

Red Dots

I heard In real or in a dream? Home is white… Or red? Tulip tree is buried…. In ice, Or in debris? Kangri is in shed. Or dead in the cold? My pheran… The one with red dots on chest…. Is like a scarecrow on tilted pole, Or cut into shreds? Who tells me?????? My umbilical cord…… Is missing……………… In[Read More...]
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Monologue of an Oligarch – For K. P. Sasi 

  Who should rule a family, community or commonwealth, humanity? What hierarchy should we, who know what’s best impose on those who don’t?   We ask them in elections, though that doesn’t guarantee that our Divine Right to command and then consume the fruits of rule will be confirmed. It’s best if we don’t ask, just act instead to organize[Read More...]

Pain

Pain to be documented for the sake of civilization. Pain, language of the unspoken, censored, plugged and precluded. Pain of mothers daughters and lovers, of sons, fathers and admirers. Pain of separated caged minors of mums in the dread for their teens. Pain of kids deprived of children’s play and tempers. Pain of teachers in empty schools like haunted sanctuaries.[Read More...]
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The Bhakt

(This is a fictional scene with no direct or indirect relation with persons living or dead. Any name or scene is utterly co-incidental. The purpose of this poem is to reflect a segment of the society.) So, the sheep-head citizens- You’re here today. Welcome. Have a seat- Like you’ve for decades now. Make yourself comfortable. I know. I know. Nothing[Read More...]
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A Weak Rope

The hangman brought the noose Near an erect neck of a prisoner I must apologise to you,’ whispered the hangmanI am only doing a job for the survival of my family.’ `Execution has been my family occupation for generations The reason is unknown to me Why I should kill and who I should kill. You are only a subject in[Read More...]
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Miyah

dappled bloody sheet and nineteen lakh bodies floating to the asphalt shores of Brahmaputra- naked and filled. Birds flying away, leaves falling cold sun setting low, moon bent till toe homes painted grey, heart- dead fay indians-moments ago, now far away.   how shall one be in solitude in war? how shall one be happy in sorrow? if hunger seeks[Read More...]
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