"Teachers tear-gassed,lathi-charged "--
Reads a bold-letter news item.
One law binds the teacher, not to cane,
another law
canes, flogs and batons them.
With frustration writ large
they still teach.
India, only in India,
where teachers demonstrate
and lie prostrate
where scientists commit suicide
where a teacher grows
bald and blind in hope
where but to teach
is to be full of sorrow.

Live each day
   to its lees,
for the mortgage
on fleeting time
is renewed every day.
    Guiltless of past
capture verity of present
    and celebrate future.
            For tomorrow
        today is yesterday.

Every day l watch
A grim visual
Outside a milk-booth
in the City Beautiful.
Crates containing empties
of customer -consumed milk
allure a crowd of urchins
with their mugs and bowls.
Whosoever is quick to collect
the left -over drops
calls it a day
and runs away.
May be to provide
a succour-diet
to a baby-brother
or an aged parent.

For the uninitiated ones
( unlike columnists and politicians )
to find their by -line
huddled in a local mag
or in an obscure daily --
it's very heaven.
And once their name appears
they preserve the page
underline their name
mark the date
procure many copies of the mag
for adulation and felicitation
of their friends and relations.
Even those who can't pen
a piece worth printing,
would rather plagiarise.

      Vanity! O Vanity  !  
       Of being in print  !

Four score young poets meet
in a metropolitan city.
So many living
in one century
no one country has !
Times  have changed !
So has
their number and
their tete- a - tete !
Years ago:
What were they writing  ?
What was being written ?  
A comment, a lament , a complaint !
Some excitement  !
But now  :
A mere meaningless conversation !
Jobs and jubilations !
Grants and gratifications !
Influences and references !
Honours and honorarium !
But
no talk of poetry  !

I sat by an ailing parent
amid the mingled echoes
of agonising angst
watching the goings-on.

A withered man lay wailing
of a gangrenous leg
demanding doctor's attention
praying for the Lord's mercy.

Next to him
a lean, grim, gaunt man
too tall for the ward-bed---
liver cirrhosis
was his diagnosis.

In the corner far off
sat a mother in vigil
over her son in teens---
his neurosis
the aftermath of a car mishap.

A charred young lady
on a stretcher brought
specialists and sisters rushing
machines and medicaments.
Some seconds of struggle
liberate the lady
from human *******.

The sisters shout
"  Remove  the body "!
Specialists turn to depart.
Everyone in the Ward
goes about lackadaisical
sans a sigh of emotion
sans a streak of affection.

Those wonder-waiting eyes
bigger than his belly ---
that mouth
set grim in sadness .
Poets and public-men
watch, write and talk
of his travails .
All over the globe ---
how often he dies !
how well he dies !
One day
he will be recognised
and rewarded.

With your sudden depart
to keep your
destiny-date,
noons at the Coffee House
will never be
the same again
my friend.

We, your friends
sit at
your select table
to reminisce
the debates dialectical
and your
fervid fervour.

Even now, we sit
dilate & declaim
over steaming
cups of coffee.

The moment
the wall-clock
strikes
the one & a half hour,
we rivet our eyes
to see you enter
and attune our ears
to hear you say " Hello ".

The goings -on now
veer round to
what we said
and did through
your presence.

We still keep
the time of
your departure
2 o'clock.
Which reminds us
that you're not
going to come
forever and forever.

My body is
A bag of broken promises
A sachet of secrets.
My complicated past
Is still a joyful pain.
Memories flutter the heart
And readily become brain -***.
The ***-ash dewdrops
On the sands of time
To arise phoenix -like.
I ask myself :
When will you get peace
Seek truce with past time
To start anew  ?

Our life consists of
little more
than round figures of
days, years, and decades.
Utter unawareness
of early days
is followed by
helplessness
of latter days.
We become conscious of
the briefness of life
and a desperate
need to survive,
when we love.
The chill of the cemetery
stalks every bed of love,
between breaths of passion
it pants coldly.
it is love's paramour
and partner.
It is everywhere ---
in the waters of spring
in the wayside flowers
in the crowns of trees
in every sensual encounter
in the darkness beyond
in the trails left behind
and in everything
we dream to achieve.

Pink , yellow , white  
square-shaped ,
rectangular
rejection -slips  
I receive for my
cerebral aberrations.

Every slip conveys
in its own trite manner
"  With Regards " ;
Nevertheless
I continue
To create and compose.


   .

Students of a school
to help support
their  teachers,
sold apples on the streets.
The state short of funds
urged institutions
to sell services
to improve
living standards
of underpaid  teachers
and
make a success
of their
Work-Study Programme.

A bittersweet sadness
  surrounds the inner
  sanctum of the soul
      on festive days.
Dormant memories kick
     and become alive
flash on the film of mind
     play hide and seek
  exciting no response.
     They eagerly await
           the advent of
         the next festival.

Amateur clicked
never to be forgotton
         photographs,
( a moment frozen in time )
affixed in a gilt- edged album
    capture and imprison
    memorable moments :
         to mock and jeer
   silver fish and moth
among sepia -toned hues
    of discoloured faces.

It's spring !
Day after day
sparrows come with
straw and hay
to my rest
to make a nest.
They announce the day
wake me up
make me feel
I'm living.
With full strength
I get up every day
to un-make their half-made nest
as if to prove
"A nest can't be made within The Nest."

An inner emptiness is apparent
on the face of a waif vending
NEWS on the pavement.
The stack at his feet
is in a language
which will remain
alien to his comprehension.
Still to earn to live
he has to sell this
mute writing on newsprint.
His desolation is deadlier
thank an organic breakdown.
The message
waxes eloquent in his eyes.
His hunger is for
Speech and not for food.

Ofttimes there're
when one feels forlorn
    and down and out.
      At other times
skies are luminous
       sun shimmers
through every pore,
        life appears
  absolutely sublime.
          Hang on to
        happy moments
     through hard times.
           The memories
          you cleave to
    bring in its entourage
           serenity of mind.

As l lay on my bed
fighting  fever
contracted the previous night,
I spotted
two lizards
on the wall.
They lay in
to devour
moths and insects,
which come in hundreds
round the lighted lamp,
but after rains.
And both have
gulped down
a large number.
Perhaps
in the hope of
saving something
for the Rainy Day.

A bittersweet sadness
  surrounds the inner
  sanctum of the soul
      on festive days.
Dormant memories kick
     and become alive
flash on the film of mind
     play hide and seek
  exciting no response.
     They eagerly await
           the advent of
         the next festival.

A bittersweet sadness
  surrounds the inner
  sanctum of the soul
      on festive days.
Dormant memories kick
     and become alive
flash on the film of mind
     play hide and seek
  exciting no response.
     They eagerly await
           the advent of
         the next festival.

A bittersweet sadness
  surrounds the inner
  sanctum of the soul
      on festive days.
Dormant memories kick
     and become alive
flash on the film of mind
     play hide and seek
  exciting no response.
     They eagerly await
           the advent of
         the next festival.