Skip to main content

there is no partition when impressing young girls

I am hearing, ji, that one person
is get dismiss from party
for praising of Jinnah.
Arre, why you are fight
over the past history?
Jo ho gaya, so ho gaya, no?
Many other good reason for
dismissing no -
he not praising my new sherwani,
he not coming to my daughter wedding,
he talking to enemy party madam.

Why you talk of Jinnah and
That is partition jo ho gaya.
There is many more -
in people's head.
Brahmin vs dalit vs thakur,
sikh vs jain vs christian,
ameer vs gareeb vs middle class:
everyone wanting separate
country, maybe not
saying loudly.
Who writing books on that?

But there is no partition
when impressing young girls.
That day I am seeing -
one girl too lazy,
too impatient
to buy ticket
is give money to passenger
to pass to conductor
who is at other end.
Whole bus is helping, ji -
all mens are rising to occasion:
young, old, hindu, muslim,
fit, fat, rich, poor,
hero, zero - all type mens
wanting to help young lady.
Maybe I write book on that.

What do you say, ji?


Aug 26, 2009


Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

Nellie, 1983

Very often the sun rises in warm, golden rays on opening buds, birdsong and dewdrops, and the stench of stale death. Very often the sun rises Upon mutilated men - blood drying over their eyes and gore-caked machetes rusting in their abdomens. Very often the sun rises over hyaenas fretting over the carrion going waste - they can eat no more, nor can the vultures. Very often the sun rises on a day already defeated - shrieking, screeching, screaming, demanding that it go back for there was peace in the night. Published in Tranquil Muse 2018.

The Flying Scotsman

Yont   brattlin  clood an seelent glen Tweetlin a-lood the ingine skirls this noisome train wi lanely men hame-comin whaur thair lassies birls whit lends thay awe, an whit dets thirls whit ailin mam, whit seekly bairn thair dreams forby the train-smeuk swirls bi new gless tour or auncient cairn thay ken nae sang, thaur herts made airn thair mynds full o the twalmonth tack regairdless o loch, pen or tairn thay anely think o whit thay lack ay but thinkna muckle o it ye an a, we're an aw in it Published in Amaravati Poetic Prism 2017 ed. Padmaja Iyengar, Cultural Centre of Vijayawada & Amaravati