Going to slaughter the death like a bull felling it on ground
binding tightly its four legs, we have made our earth
full of death more.
Going to uproot the shrubs of weeds,
we have filled our life-land with more weeds.
Going to destroy the darkness with all its roots,
we have fallen down slipping into the darkest ditch.

Our wisdom is now eating our whole body
pecking at all limbs like a vulture.
All our books and idle times of our laboratories
are biting our soul and existence, raising their hoods
like a cobra.
We do not know where we have reached
running like a bull tearing its rope.
Our science and technology are pouring black heat
upon our skulls.

Our dull eyes are getting overturned again and again
like an unhappy housewife hanging herself
with a ceiling fan.
Even the eyes of our heart are growing feeble and inactive
by getting fade every day.

Spitting upon all our rotten knowledge, wit,
welfare and blessing,
spitting upon our democracy twinging like a septic boil
and spitting upon all our destructive inventions,
we are eagerly waiting like swallows,
like the thirsty fish  of a dry pond
or like the cracked fields of Summer-
if it rains!
if peace descends!
if the last white pigeon comes
flying from the distant sky-civilization out of this sky
engulfed with bombing planes,
carrying the message of peace!

When, like cancer, people fear war and death
as a rat fears a cat;
when people detest war and death
like a dead rotten rat that spreads intolerable bad smell
which way a mad dog detests water for its hydrophobia;
when a bright city crowded like a river full to the brim
gets vacant all on a sudden just after seeing a gun-
what can the city be named then?

Avoiding war is the nature of the Queen of Sheba
because a woman means getting boiled like an egg
lying under the aggressive virility of a man
surrendering completely to his lust;
and a man is always like the King Solomon,
at whose beckoning with finger the Queen of Sheba
along with her state gets belonged to him.
But what a city is it, where the disgraced men
hearing the name of war enter the latrines running fast
like the patients of diarrhoea?
What an ill-fated country is it, where men and women
calumniate the war in their sky-rending chorus?

In ancient days women chose only knights and warriors
as their bridegrooms; and for their beloved heroes,
they made ready their shields and swords
so that they could leap into the fathomless beauty of war
if the battle-drum was heard beating.
When they returned to their homes, their wives welcomed them laying their hearts and tears of eyes under their feet.
If they got martyred, the wives felt proud of losing their husbands, as the full Moon feels proud of sacrificing
her light for the earth.

When a woman gets inclined only to her body,
when no noble thought can enter her brain
except the thought of her ******, only then
she clasps her bed-mate like pincers
listening to the sweet slogan of a procession.

But tell me, o *** men, which cancer makes men
such boneless like earth-worms?
Being affected by which tuberculosis, men start shouting heart and soul like *****, saying 'Save!Save!’
listening to the maddening war-song in the air and the sky?

When people detest war and death like a dead rotten rat that spreads intolerable bad smell which way a mad dog detests water for its hydrophobia, that habitation then
can be called a country of worthless people
where the sun should not rise ever,
it should not rain
and crops should not grow in the fields.

My earth moves round my three kids round the clock.
I need no new stars more; they are my all.
No stream is so much sweet as their voice is;
No nightingale so soothing as their call.

I have seen no flowers on earth like them.
No gem I know as precious as they are.
Like hymn, day and night I recite their names.
Within me they stay, they don't remain far.

Body is walking, soul is gone.

You can touch and kiss
But surely something you will miss
Body is walking, soul is gone.

Soul is gone, lips are talking.

You can come and hear
But surely you will miss something near
Soul is gone, lips are talking.

Like Jocasta and Oedipus Rex
You may have wild love and ***
But surely you will miss something dear.

Body is walking, soul is gone.

'Why does there lie sorrow and gloom
on thy face? '
'Because I have to bloom'
the bud says.

Yet the bud blooms,
then begins to die,
like dewdrops falling down on tombs
says, 'Goodbye.'