An old man clad in orthodox Indian Attire
Entered my bed room. His Pure and white
Dhoti was steeped in blood.
I asked him who he was. He said, ‘I won
Independence for you and Like Jesus
I shed holy blood to purify the Indians”
I asked him the reason for his coming
He said, “I want to establish a political party’
I said, “Your party and you will utterly be defeated”
He asked,” Do Indians forget my sacrifices and me”
“No. We have great respect for you and we remember
You in national festivals and in elections”
But we will not like you to come to power”
Why? He quite surprisingly asked.
“You always plead for truth, non-violence and honesty
And fight against liquor and corruption.
The Indians are really fed up with your principles.
Even your staunchest disciples will not vote for you”
I said and the vision disappeared most dejectedly.
I woke up from my dream wondering where
He had gone .I felt very sorry for the old man

Looking at the sky at night is a beauty
It should be every poet’s eternal duty
I believe in the law of relativity
Because what we see is not absolute reality
What you perceive is not the real view
Your very eyes will betray you
The earth looks standing
And the sun appears moving
The sun looks traveling from east to west
Because the earth is rotating at its fastest
The sun seems to be bigger
The star appears very smaller
Now you look at the star
Which may not be there
Even for the greatest scientist
The universe poses a puzzling test
On the vastness of this gigantic universe
Only a poet can write many a beautiful verse

Man can be a wonderful priest
Or he may turn into a cruel beast
It depends on his chosen feast
He crucified even Jesus Christ

Sometimes he thinks like a god
At times he becomes the greatest fraud
He may be the lord on earth
But he will never escape from his death

He miraculously entered space
But he kills most heinously his own race
Shakespeare adored man for his grace
Even the minutest bacteria he can trace

Man always suffer from his original sin
He often thinks of his kith and kin
He might have reached the moon
Even may get to the unreachable sun soon

He will never conquer nature
And know about his own future
He should  know God’s ever lasting feature
And have unshakable faith in His  delightful stature

Will an angel ever fall from heaven?
And suffer from any pain
Like  quite an ordinary woman?
When her toe is badly broken
Should she be forsaken?
I wonder whether an angel will groan
Or mourn for an unexpected loss!
Will she think like a woman of superior class?
Or just like the one of common mass

Will she ever suffer from anger or hunger?
Is she always safe from any danger?
Which language does she speak?
Will she come to our poet freak?

What poem does she write?
Does she know about our poetic site?
Have you ever seen her Sight?
I have seen her in the night?
It’s just my imagination. You are Right

Gone are the days when teachers
Came to school on cycles
Now every teacher owns a motor cycle
No teacher wants to ride a cycle
I am one of the few teachers
Who now and then use cycles

Riding a cycle is considered mean
Even my daughters regard it as mere fun
The cycle runs on human power
The motor cycle on electrical power
If it runs out of petrol
Somebody comes to console
If it develops a technical problem
It keeps mum like a tar drum
Human power is more reliable
Electrical power is always unpredictable

Bicycle is very easy to ride
It is a poor man’s pride
Riding a cycle is good for our health
It even saves some of our wealth
It saves environmental pollution
And releases our mental tension