My eyes were hooked on to the West
Feasting on the riot of colors the sun had cast
I stood dazed at an experience blest
That any poet would treasure with zest

By chance I glanced at the river below
It moved like an overloaded carriage slow
With floating weeds and ***** *******
Reminding one of an ugly heap of trash

I saw partially submerged bottles bobbing on the surface
Gradually filling with ***** water perforce
And slowly sinking down to rest in peace
With their sunken brethren at the river base

Spill of oil glistened iridescent
On the face of the river florescent
Its water was far from clean
But had turned murky green

On the still surface was a layer of ****
Like rancid butter annoying anyone’s calm
Reeking smell of rotten fish and mulch
Entered my nostrils with an obnoxious stench

I closed my eyes and turned my head
And looked away from the river bed
I thought of man’s callous audacity
In assaulting Nature’s pristine vitality

I heard the river’s rising lament
And me it did acutely torment
Any sensitive soul would be left grieving
Seeing the river in such agony heaving

In the far horizon, the sky had grown into flames
I wondered if Nature was mad at man’s tall claims
Suddenly I saw with the eyes of a seer
That Dooms day is drawing near!

I must readily admit
I am guilty of this deep pleasure
When it suits me to find a justifying reason to do so,
     But like a sweaty fat man
Waiting in line at an out door
Restroom,
I must admit that I find it
Quite uncomforting when
I find one written about me,
    As good as it may be,
Some lines genius and genuine
Grasping me to a T;
   I feel naked as a blank paper
Being written over and told this
Is what I will be, or am,
    Or will never achieve,
Archived in a thought,
    Popping my bubble of
Existence and letting a stanza
Didctate my life's
Unfortunate,
But very well writ poem
Stake me in the soul,
     How well they know me,
Plagiarism of my own
Confessions,
And I realise
They are just peices of poetry
I have pasted in the past
Cleverly put together
In some Rondeau' or
Dickinson flurry,
    And wonder what the truth
About a plagiarism's gambit,
    Hoping to nail me onto
The front page wall,
   Disguised as poetic license
To hang me out in the open,
Yet I have seen these lines,
    And no one can expose
Themselves better than I,
   Read between the lines
And there is a hint of envy,
The honor becomes mine.

How your arms reach
Like the moonbeams
Over the Mexican jungle,
Only the smallest tips
Of light enter over her canopy,
    The vanity of
The first moon of the wet season,
The escaped light that hits
The grounds,
  How little the canopy
Can be seen when
Planted so firmly to
The ground!

I have never met such  
A universal conundrum
As the God of my truth,
The God of my folly.

You need God in your life,
They told me once when
I was drowned in to a river
Baptised by a southern gentlemen,

The snakes like the feel of
Grass on their bellies I thought,
And yet get whacked with a
Shovel once discovered;

What did I do to God to get
Born and then asked to find
Him, some glorified game
Of Hide and seek and ye will find?

Still there is no driving force
In this world as to who is right,
Or who is wrong on God's Monopoly board game, the dice roll

And it's my turn,
This poem might burn in hell,
But if I get a get out of hell free card, I might as well finish
The game.

=====================================
Dusk till dawn everyday
Addiction of affected
Memory of her touch
Soft cotton bud spreads
over my hard body, but
Rejuvenate mind and soul

The ''Me'' that can see the unseen
Touches the untouched mean
Feeling the real fragrance
Standing on the entrance
Watching the worldly core
From the inner light door

Away from the noise and pollution
Seeking real all solution
Mind watches the pure conclusion
Not depending on a life's conclusion
Living with the dust and crust
Passing test of the earth

Not thinking of salvation
Not wanting any liberation
But living with the actual relation
Nothing pain or segregation
The ''Me'' that can see unseen
Is the pure soul of Eternal screen

There is no end of wit, grace and beauty
But there is always a new beginning of duty
This sweet question is a constant link
Which reflects our attraction to Think
Song of life takes us along with the wind
From inside room to outside to go and find

Written by
~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~

Dear Poet Fiends. Inspired by the dramatic monologues of Robert Browning, I have composed this short verse. In the last stanza however it breaks into a short dialogue format. Hope you like it.

"CAN YOU HEAR ME CLEARLY DEAR MARY ANN?"
                                              By Raj Nandy

“Hello, is that you dear Mary Ann? I have finally got that long
awaited job with the Oriental Fans.
You can refuse that marriage proposal now dear Mary Ann.
Tell your folks that you are not getting married there anymore.
My job gets confirmed after three more months they have
assured.
Our dreams will get materialized very soon.
No more visits to those cheap cafes in the afternoons.
And weaving dreams of happiness under the full moon.
We can now start a family pretty soon.
But why are you so silent dear Mary Ann?
That marriage proposal you can now disown, yes you surely can.
Though this trunk line seems rather faint on my side.
Hope you can hear me on the other side? ”

It was then when a gruff voice replied, “Mary Ann got married
at the St Paul’s Church last night.
You are a bit too late this time. Wish you better luck next time!”
                                                    - By Raj Nandy, New Delhi.