Rinku

51LmpmsRIyL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_

 

She is a maid,

Thirty to thirty-five

years of age.

 

Three of her children,

She left in the village,

And the other two are here

with her, in the slum near.

 

They were starved,

She says

And had to get away.

 

From her village already

have come so many

to this suburb here,

In a slum near.

 

Her husband she says

works in a place

some distance away

and visits sometimes,

But mostly at night.

 

About a month back,

Forlorn and wane

in our service lane,

Looking half dead;

She wanted work,

As a maid.

 

Like shadows in lament,

Her voice is faint

And her name is Rinku;

But by god, can she argue!

 

Our driver, a pundit,

The first thing he did

was to find out her caste;

Which is the bit

that in this universe vast

matters to him first and last.

 

She is of low caste,

This he

with satisfaction informed.

But she is alright,

further he said;

As he is of a heart

of decency large.

 

Rinku’s baby daughter fell ill

a week back,

As when did

also our baby girl.

 

Both the babies recovered,

But yesterday, Rinku said

that returning home in evening,

she found her baby shivering

in vomit and urine.

 

Rinku is a maid,

Thirty to thirty-five

years of age.

 

Three of her children,

she left in the village,

And the other two are here

with her, in slum near.

 

 

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OF SOUL & LIFE

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If ever I die,

That will only be a reprieve,

For I shall walk again and again

In mystifying forms of Life.

 

Keep the sparrows alive,

Chirping from tree to balcony,

And the beautiful butterfly,

That sips the nectar honey.

 

Keep the eagles soaring,

Kissing the Sun high

And the tigers roaring,

That gods bow to knees nigh.

 

Ah, the life that runs wild

Gambols, cascades, spirits

In fascinating forms of life.

 

Let them be alive

For if I ever die

That will only be a reprieve

For I shall come again and again

To walk the wonderful forms of life.

 

 

51LmpmsRIyL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_

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THE BALLAD OF AN UNINITIATED

path

 

It is not that I am uneducated,

In a decent subject have I graduated,

And also have a degree in law,

But these things can have their flaw

 

Nationalism, communism and jingoism,

And big fat books on humanism,

I don’t much know what they really say,

Even as others rage on them night and day

 

A mullaji is my left side neighbour,

One day, before his house, a mob did gather,

And all was in such great clamour,

Some with spear and some with dagger

 

 

Litti chokha I was eating in a dhaba nearby,

When I heard this rising cry,

Rushing back I told the mob, – hey bhai !

let’s first have litti chokha and some hot fry !

 

 

From the dhaba, the litti chokha was promptly brought,

Then with satiated bellies, some peace was sought,

They told me that mullaji was doing some converting,

I said but many starving belly too, daily he is feeding

And when the starving belly by charity is fed,

That charity more than religion it shall respect,

They left then doing nothing scary,

And mullaji still feeds many starving belly

 

So often now, everywhere, I hear these many,

Shouting how our country is better than any,

One day, in this hot-selling toddy shop,

I met this Mexican who was on a world hop

Soon, we were laughing, giggling and brothers in arms,

Raising toasts to god’s highest alms,

He told me of the version of toddy there in Mexico on tap,

And Mexico seems to be as good as the land here we have,

Then whether I am a nationalist or am I not ?

This question sometimes does trouble me lot

 

 

And then where I live, some go around as humanists,

And then there are others who are known as communists,

Of poverty, they would paint such pictures stark,

That often I thought how grand was their heart,

Till I learnt that inspite what they preach and say,

Their maids, drivers, cooks get the lowliest pay !

 

Nationalism, communism and jingoism,

And big fat books on humanism,

I don’t know much what they really say,

Even as others rage on them night and day

 

 

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FROM A DAUGHTER TO HER FATHER WHO DIVORCED AND LEFT

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I could not take your call,
my grief is still such a wall,
I read the message you sent,
and wondered what it meant,
wishing me a world of happiness,
when you put it in such darkness
 
you ask if I am alright,
don’t be such hypocrite,
wasn’t I the papa’s pet?
but you packed and left,
caring little for tears shed
 
I have given all your gifts away,
they made me miserable everyday,
please don’t message, don’t call,
for my grief is still such a wall,
someday when I am enough strong,
then I’ll call you daddy once for all
51LmpmsRIyL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_

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THE POLITICIAN BY THE BOOK & THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN

images (1).jpg
You want to ride my ass,
Suck my big high tits,
And put in my mouth,
your little prick,
What will you pay
Sir, for all this?
No, that won’t do,
Shall I tell you what,
I shall strap on a dildo,
And ride your ass hard,
Then beat you with a stick,
Spit on you all over thick
What will you pay for this
You hideous fat pig ?
Bravo, now that is good,
You truly are a politician,
In keeping with the book!
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FOR, I AM THE TIGER

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The shadows are now too deep,

And I have to take my leave,

No more shall I walk this land,

Be mere lines now in drifting sand

 

Nature in tribute had me so dressed,

As lie the lines on Mahadev’s head,

And the very gods in homage bowed,

When my roars had the creation cowed

 

But the shadows are now too deep,

And I have to take my leave,

No more shall I walk this land,

Be mere lines now in drifting sand

 

For, I am the Tiger.

 

 

51LmpmsRIyL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_

AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM [IN KINDLE EDITION ALSO]