Vivekanand Jha, 10 grudnia 2011
The mind of terrorist runs on
One and only one software
He only recognizes the commands
Of trigger and fire ware.
He damns care
Who’s strong and weak?
As even before naked eyes
He sneaks.
He doesn’t know
Etiquette of red-tapism
As he looks at all
Through monochromatic prism.
He doesn’t bother
One may have one son
As to kill others for him
Is nothing but a fun.
He knows no difference
In man, woman and child
Though he’s literate
Yet idiot, beast and wild.
He’s blessed with only bliss
How to rob and kill
One’s rest and peace.
He’s known
In the world entire
By the name of
Indiscriminate fire.
He doesn’t follow
Any caste, sex or creed
As he’s such a hybrid
Comprised of unknown breed.
Terrorist’s
Like an epidemic plague
How and when he would explode
Is absolutely vague.
Vivekanand Jha, 10 grudnia 2011
I send you to represent
In various magazines and ezines
From my country
To the world of every region
But you fall victim
To the predators
So called poetry editors.
They’re prepared
With ready witted reply:
To the guidelines
Your submission doesn’t comply.
Some say:
Thank you for your interest
But we decided to pick up the best
Some says:
You’re committing a crime
By composing the poems in rhyme.
Better if our guidelines you rehearse
As we consider poems only in free verse.
Some say:
We don’t accept
Unsolicited submission.
So before sending works
You must seek permission.
Some say:
Sorry, not what we’re looking for
Best of luck for publishing them
In other journals.
Some say:
Our magazine is limited
To the poets of our nation
So we don’t accept submission
From out station.
Some say:
Your submission permanently fails
As we don’t accept it by emails.
They don’t have time
To read and waste
Stereotype reply
They simply copy and paste.
Some say:
Due to large volume of submission
It isn’t feasible to give
On all critical depreciation.
Some say:
We’ve decided
To pass on these
But next time don’t forget
To send, please.
Some say:
We only publish
The works of established poet
So keep on trying,
Watch and wait.
These are only
Small lists of rejection
Poets are victim of
Numerous persecutions.
I keep on sending
In spite of your insults
The poets do poetry
Irrespective of the results.
Vivekanand Jha, 10 grudnia 2011
It’s neither about
The Wordsworth’s Solitary Reaper
Nor it’s glamorous life
Of Dhoni, wicketkeeper
But it’s about crying of
Beggars and lepers
In the premises of temple
And stretching their bruised hands
For petty alms
Before another beggar.
It’s neither in the memory of
Keat’s Endymion
Nor it’s in the memory
Of Tennyson’s In Memoriam
Nor it’s about melodic
And euphonic tone of harmonium
Nor it’s about the altar and pandemonium
Standing on which
Pre-election promises
Are performed by the politicians
Nor it’s about advertising
The product of the skin and face lotion
Nor it’s about
The adventurous voyage
To be set in motion
But it’s about
The exploitation of poverty and prostitution
By public and government institution.
It’s not about the turn and twist
Produced by detective novelist
But it’s about the temple priest
Who though pretend
To mutter the Gita’s gist
But go on to pick pocket,
Ornaments and watch from wrist.
It’s neither about the pain and ache
That I underwent when I saw
A young Indian girl on railway station
Twirling her moustache
And puffing a smoke of cigarette
As if she were blowing a stream of pearl
To give a call of waking
It’s only trailer, many more in waiting
But it’s about the girls below fourteen
Who wash plates
And eat left over meal in canteen.
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