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Showing posts from April, 2012

No Poem for Your Country

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The poet with his pen pens the paeans;
He has sixty-three poems of love
He has sixty-five poems of peace
But he has no poem,
He has no poem for your country.

In red and in blot his pen cries:
The masters might molest him
The army might humiliate him
But he has no poem for your country.

You would sing him songs of brotherhood
But he has no poem for your country;
You would make him happy when he is drunk
You would make him happy when you are drunk
But he has no poem for your country.

Sing him your national anthem
A thousand, thousand times
Show him your national flag
A thousand, thousand times
But he has no poem for your country
No poem for your country.

On a Passing Thought to Buy a Tie

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I used to wear ties in schools
It made me look like a gentleman
In college I read to think like a prince
Now I work, I work like a pro

Now I want to loot
To loot to live
To loot to look
Like a gentleman
Again

But here in this corner
My dingy room jeers:
I’m just another urchin
A tie would make no difference


Goodbye, Dear Delhi

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Goodbye, dear Delhi Before you rape me;
I came here with dreams of life
Now I dream only about butterflies
about white ibises, about AK47s.

Your homeless people put me off
Your beautiful houses and big cars put me off
Your uninspiring landscapes put me off;
Now I don’t want to see anything, anyone, anymore.

It’s hard to say goodbye
Let me drink all the whisky from NFC
Let me smoke all the weeds from Taimoor Nagar
Let me puke away all the goodbye blues.

I would like to go to Switzerland
To see how true your maker had said of our land
Alas, I’m only going back to my land
To see what I have missed all along.

I’m a stranger in my own country
Let me be yours, cover me in your misery;
Tomorrow we never know
Time might heal the pain.

Before you molest me
Before your summer consumes me
Before your winter freezes me.
Goodbye, goodbye, Delhi.




We Meet Here Again, Unfortunately

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We meet here again, my friend
We will keep meeting
We will meet again when we go to the mountain
We will meet again when the mountain becomes our house
We will meet again when our house become a home.

We will meet while going to the market
We will talk how there is no boundary
Between you and I, between us and them;
We will meet while going to the fair
Tell me, tell us, let us know
How all our souls in the crowd are one!

We meet here again, my friend
We will keep meeting.

What's in these useless things that we would blare:
Freedom and slavery are relative;
Our country is bigger than two watermelons;
100 km north you will find snowfall, 100 km south the desert;
A 2,000 km long history takes us here, right here where we are now;
Humankind is our homeland!
Only love was what binds us.

But when we were running
When the outline appeared
When the separation was obvious
Why did you have to go to your side,
As much as they went to their side?
When I called for you, my friend,
Why did yo…

The Report Card of a Failed State

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The average human has one breast and one testicle.  - Des McHale