from the day the golden egg the cosmos came into existence and
Changed different forms and meanings
From the day the earth was freed saved and settled
By the Boar-god
From the demon Hiranyakhsa
From the day the life and death appeared
From the day the first war was fought between good and bad

And from the day the good begot good and evil begot evil
From the day the human race emerged
From the day the dynasties of Sun and Moon began
And civilizations took roots
From the day nature itself rejoiced and revenged
The auspicious and inauspicious happened
To this day
Today I am seeing the wheel moving
Singing a song ‘ Chareiveti…chareiveti…chareiveti

And in the witness and commemoration
I also grounded a pole
For the ‘edification of masses’
Or in crises or in confusion or in absurdity
In that relentless ethical war or worship or meaningless struggle
As a duty bound postman delivers letters
As a wounded soldier embrace the motherland when falls
Priest sermons a psychopath suffers
A poet jewels words or a stalker captures the prey
(Sorry I didn’t know what exactly my identity was at that moment)
(But I knew it very well; I was not a pantheon or a crusader)

The pole was enough for me
A wooden pole
Called in ‘Vedic’ term a Yoop
My yoop was without any association of a horse
As I did not intend to sacrifice the poor animal
In the name of ‘Aswamedh.’

My pole was hollow without any flag or insignias
But it was decorated with innumerable feathers of peacocks
Representing a hill god
It was an installation in my drawing room
No act of reliquary

As the place was lonesome
And cut from the masses
It only bounced my lonely heart
My mind moved in roaring success

As if some rivulet appeared on my head
But they did not feel or care as it was not a ritual or a myth
Perhaps my angst for words was an act of infringement for them
My ‘ingenuity was a hoax-call against their masquerading behavior
I attempted in distress to meet the long lost beloved the freedom
Declaring I was still alive
Seeking poetic license to embroider a tale of hope

But to my utmost surprise and in reaction soon the world changed
From earth to sky everything was possessed by evil forces
Distorted and displaced gods –goddesses in bad shape
Weeping laughing dancing perspiring
Running in the smoky sky covered by bloody rains and crying clouds
Informing of the loots and blood-shed
Throwing flags and war-weapons in surrendering postures
Their heads sunk in distress
NO…NO…NO
WAIT…WAIT…WAIT
Who said it silently?
I don’t know

…Perhaps it all started with my birth
Or with the pole
Not always…some time far away
Was it again a blasphemy?
Or a blandishment
Or a point of no return

I whispered and the play began again
I was surrounded by clouds and hills
Lost in dust light darkness
By animals birds trees house and huts and hospitals
In men and women
I saw such creatures never on earth
An inner jungle opened in me
I closed all doors and windows of cunning passages and corridors of life
A new intimate flow of emotions and intellect
Changed shapes size images memories
All was like a war unending
The geography history the map and the men
The trees and rivers repeating life and its shadows
Murmuring sound of my shoes mixed with the memories of gods
Gandhi or Goudsay or a gorilla
The dead ‘mummy’ show-cased for years
‘Ramayan’ wrapped in red cloth in kabadi market
Gods’ goddesses’ leaders patriots temple mosque gurudwara church
In broken glass frame thrown out of window in dustbin
Kalam’s thinking hut destroyed to protect the imperial grandeur
Kite-flying and masturbation running to-gather keeping in view the next door woman
House lizards and pigeons in copulation tricolor in the hand of a child inverted
The broken spring board of bicycle hanging over the red petticoat or ‘Langoat’
Making no sense
Suddenly become alive and meaningful
In the permutation and combination of words and images
In contrast of colors and spaces
In contingency plan of poetic diction or a story yet unexplored or told

I thought about the age of my grand mother when she died
I thought about the bed of river dried
About the irregular period of my beloved
Ascendant of my horoscope afflicted in the seventh house
I thought about the palmistry and the mound of Venus and the last kiss taken illegally
On the last election day
I thought about the martyrs who gave their lives
I thought again and again about the dead wall cloak the unused Hammer
Three empty bottles of ‘Bhringaraj’ oil and the old and gold microphone’ Choodibaja’
Left unattended for years
I also thought about the vote-bank the poor folks without any reference
Or frame-work this moment

I Often thought about the dialog between the two individuals:Whether it disturbed me in Purohitji ka katala or in Ravi-studio…whether it excited me with Banarasi baee or provoked me in the company of Tanoo maharaja or in national anthem behind the class mate right palm in the trouser connecting something privately…no clouds


the trousers please ! The matter of investigation was a matter related to leisure time theory which I never wanted to understand …no please for god’s sake no words of battle anywhere any more)
I thought about the possibilities of other space or time
About the death of my father or mother or a friend or a terrorist
A godly man or a thief
Whom I should hold responsible for all that is happening?
Whom to connect or disconnect?
ALL born would one day perish

Fire burns their sins
Their attachments their commitments obligations
Until and unless they travel inwards truly
And that is perhaps the most unknown path
May be most obscured
But the only way…they again and again assure
Time is not a roller-cast they say
Time is progressive they say
Time is in circle they say

But time is not life
Absolutely
And my dear friend the trouble is with life
Which never fits in the heavenly attire?
Or in hellish justice
It is for paupers for nou-veau riches both
It meets at any point of time like hackers in cyber space

And in the game of life
I and you and everyone is alone
All strangely sunk
Nobody knows where
All roads eternally closed crowded webbed by murderers’ opium addicts’
Rapists’ politicians magicians prostitutes and poets
All in one line to be hanged their sinful act disclosed
Everyone to meet the same end
No small or big no good or bad no one in prayer or heinous act saved
If called
No mercy petition no bribe no intelligence no emotion nothing goes with it
But the bare life meaningless
To be taken and buried in the remotest reach

To be hidden and kept in unbroken lock
To be taken or not taken
To be touched or left
To be seen or unseen


To be or not to be
We may only humbly feel the gravely beautiful teeth
That death advance and embrace us all without discrimination
And when everyone is without shelter
The showy silent fleets enter the lonely chamber
And in a bustle take
All lively things away except the swollen existence
All that was hidden for years plundered
All that was epitomized in the name of name and fame in memories in love in hatred In perseverance in perversion in hic-cups of poetry art religion culture in transition
All like shattered dream of a plonker

Nobody is prepared for that game
Everyone wants one minuter
But that all proves mere luxury
The soil the water the fire the air the sky the mind the intellect the ego
All pervading
As far as light
As close as darkness
And meaningless
No deity no spirit no installation no formulae no ritual
No mediation no repetition of incantation
No ceremony no language no Mudra no gesture help
All stories told and untold conveyed or not conveyed all the Navarasas
Become poor man’s dream
Giving no clues

Whatever seen heard experienced prayed thought of indicative of future
Arising out of human sensibility
Becoming urine of a frightened horse employed for ‘Yagnya’.
The passing clouds break forth acidic rain inauspicious delivery
Dogs and jackals howl to the right of the ‘Yagnya mandap’.
All temples closing the doors
Declaring death of the main priest
Widows weeping striking against the door
The journey withdrawn
Yes the vigorous fight between the good and bad
End still undecided.
Nobody can win this game by power and thought alone
Or by mercy or grace or hollow rejoice
The lid covered by gold and always in unknown hands
Surrounded by venomous snakes
Call for great sacrifice…

Good if we do not epitomize all that
Good if we look back
Good if we remain silent spectator

Good if we search anything under the Parquet
Good if we forget our follies or parodies
Good if we keep away from universal evil eye and black tongue
Good if we forget sorrows and generate cheerfulness
Good we attempt to open the golden lid

And for that let us search for Adi Ganga flowing unruffled in us
Slow even motionless
Catch hold of it
Becoming free from all baffled despair
Do you know from where it is coming?
Meditate rise and see what is above
She is all pervading
Pervading cosmos
Help help help
Fulfill the dream
Observe but in silence
All bunches of trees of ‘Tamas’ are fallen

The heavy-storm of ego is over
The darkness of hell is diffused
Plunge plunge plunge
Hear sounds of crickets
Hear sound of drum beats rumbling of dark clouds conch shell bell and flute
Touch the nucleus of energy
Feel a fountain opening
The sacred touch of stream
Washing all dirt
Sacrifice sacrifice sacrifice
Take deep dip in the purest water of divinity
And get the blissful embrace and motherly love

But for the god sake don’t be in a hurry
It’s not a call from any market Guru or lady of easy virtue
No management funda no magical solution no absurd slogan no lack lustre subject
Beware my friend of wolves in lamb’s clothing’s
At the time of mortal agony anything can happen
Hence wait wait and wait
Watch like a dog
See like a vulture

Listen like deer
Live like fish in water
Sacrifice selflessly like a moth in the fire.

The call is eternal and it is not for monkey tricks.
Feel you are in a fresh lease of life

But have ghost of a chance
And over and over again surrounded by black foxes and pimps
Seeking opportune time everywhere
Be aware you are your own enemy
Be sure you run a risk of pillage
Be aware if you are in hodgepodge situation and no Coventry to support

No doubt the situation is bitchy
Yet not out of control
Nostalgia is not over
And people are fed-up of unkind and scurrilous gossips
So sooner is better
Let’s start again
Again and again
Against the stream

From the point of no return
This is the only spirited moment of a maverick traveler
When the entire crowd is busy with politicians and scrubbers of democracy
When the scriptures and constitution are being used as toilet papers
When the masses have taken in hands guns in place of scythes
When the pen is dry or used as vibrator to arouse market-whores
When the clerics merchandising sex and power in philandering posture of religion
The saturation point the indicator the call for those has come
Who can take this journey and the challenge thrown to them
In a saunter way…striking again and again
Different heights and valleys
Like a monk revamping the old monastery
Waiting for ultimate laurels
Whispering the lines of Frost-
‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep.’

And like that of Monk’s mind
Everything seemed hopeful

Everything in good shape
Everybody seemed relieved

But this all feel-good factor
Can come to a tragic end
Can become a pittance of a poor man
A proxy of people
Even a traitorous activity
The vanguard losing faith of people

All ideals becoming vaporous
And the hero proves a Vampire bat
It is all mournful
Ordure of our expectations
Up-setting all

Such Monks often come and go
To reverse the process and progress
In the name of leaders and statesmen
In the name of freedom fighters
Unsung heroes
Product of podiums or procession or prison
Poetry or Art
There are blind followers deaf and dumb crowd
Dirty politics absorb all and after use they are thrown in dust-bin
That is nothing but the game of exorcism loved and played by power brokers
And the victims live it irresolutely
They are thrown in the streets as stray dogs or as used expiry date drugs
Such rag-tag band of party rebels or misfits or unfortunate ‘people’
Become a force of incivility and flushed through the gutters of
Floundering democracy in most heinous manner

Remember Elliot telling us-‘this is the way the world ends…
This is the way the world ends
Not by bang but by whimper…Whose whisper is all that
What makes you inhuman?
How suddenly some poltergeist becomes active in you
Why can’t you hear the inward inexorable words?
The solemn pronouncement of self realization
Being freed in the infinite
That your soul now seeking new clothes

Think think and think …
Think again
The time is melting in Salvador Dali’s Paintings.
It’s neither in line nor in circular motion
Then whose time is this?
It’s yours…it’s mine…it’s everybody’s time
Melting like wax melting like life
How cruel a spring may be?

The discovery of the Pendulum
The electric clocks
The atomic clocks
Reckoning time in tiny fraction of seconds
Yet the time remains away from the reach of people
They remain backward hungry sick lost in depression
A plunderer still following the seasonal migrations of the reindeer
The tribes uproot themselves
In search of rich grasslands
Never guided by clock
But by life’s remarkable rhythms
The poor-fellows left out of extinction
When blue-eyed grass blooms

There is no regulation still
Except the clocking of nerve impulse
Of uncountable birds animals men-women
For unfathomable creatures of sea
Accept call of the Mother Nature
Oh Albert Einstein, are you still stretching and shrinking time
A paradox for everyone
When the life can roll forward and backward
Anytime like a film in minute camera or a movie
When the brown haired damsel
Comes out of the city beauty parlor
When foliage and flowers express in ingenious and decorative way
The meaning of time
When great poet Kalidas calculates people’s time in love and romance
Clouds like messengers telling tales of beloved lyrical hearts

Then think about fire
The same fire
The ever first stolen by Sisyphus from heaven for which he was cursed
Un-tiring labor toiled on him
Absurd punishment imposed
With a heavy rock on his shoulders
Ascending and descending the hill very high day and night
For his act which saved humanity

Think about fire in horse representing the creator of cosmos
Fire in fish saving entire stock of culture in a pot
Fire in stone saving civilizations till this day
Fire in cow the sacred goddess not an animal

The world around us is made up of Fire and Som the divine drink ‘wouldst thou had’
The world that weaving words through the fire in poets pen
For whom Tagore writes-
‘My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to stand
At the portals of my ears
Silently to listen to thine own eternal- harmony’
And most unfortunately that very fire again and again lost
From the singing and dancing shoulders of hills


Answered by the flutes
In the dark summer nights of devils world
When lives become uncomfortable and at high stake
When that divine light become pale
When the lord of the Universe known as ‘Virat purush’
Lord of legends with
Hundred heads hundred eyes hundred arms
Adores this Universe by his grand posture of only ten fingers
Leaves the place
The hills Madia Kingdom also comes to a halt suddenly
The fire clothed virgin earth doesn’t weds the Yogi
Who creates and destroys this wonderful cosmos

It’s a moon-less mid- summer night of sloppy hills and sleepy moot populace
The oldest civilization on earth with ‘woeful agony forced me also to begin the tale’
Remembering Coleridge at this juncture I politely quote:
Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.’
Thank you my favorite poet
Thank you for telling the story which is Universal
I pray, for I can not but pray
As prayers sustain me

Come to my rescue O great Lord of the Universe
Let the gates of my inner temple open
Let the fire glitter in the hearts of the same people
Let the jungle wake from the dreadful sleep
Let there be light of thousands of Masaals (Torch)
Let there be tides of peacocks dancing in unison
Let’s see the come back of thousands legs ups and down in rhythm
With the beats of Drums

Let their decorated shoulder horse jump with jubilant orientation
Let the oval shaped ‘Parang’ drums in the vest- line
Dance in tune with the ‘Tirooth’.
Answered by the hills…tadak…tadak

Where all that gone with the venomous air?
The music of Bamboo like thunder bolt
And at the same time someone very close
Whispering your ear-
You also buy a drum and learn how to love.
Love in ‘Ghotul’
That paradise of lovers looking like wild Bison shaped attic
And the mystic attached to that mating point
Is again its roistering but fascinating environment

Created by imaginative presence of reptiles like snakes and alligators
Forming part of its architectural grandeur
Feathers of gorgeous bird Peacock associated with lord Krishna make the roof top
Beauty with utility is the key word of their world

And this all inviting
In the night house made of broad bones of fishes
The entrance decorated with ‘siliyari’ flowers
The floor layered by ‘urad’ pulse
‘Enjoy loving your spouse on the back of crocodile’
How exciting would it all be?
Under the shadows of tall ‘Saal ‘trees
This all is unseen and a fantasy
Angdev inviting you again in the democratic world of love
Intoxicating ‘Mahuwa’ inviting you
Select your life partner your love bird
And go deep into the forest
After formal permission from ‘Belasa’ and ‘Sirdar’
Become’ Chelic’ and take your ‘Motiyari’ with you.

After the scorching heat the sun is setting
They all start …re…re…loyo…re…re…la…re…re…re…la
Dance is their life
The entire hill dance
Young lovers offer tobacco to each other
Boys give combs as special gifts to their beloved
And again fire plays major role in joining them
In the Ghotul courtyard they enjoy ‘Chaungi’.
The brass colored beauty nothing to cover on bare bosom
But a single flower of Mahuva pinned
Symbol of love and protection
By her bosom friend some time steal the scene

Where you lost where my dear Aboojhamaad…?
I am not a witness of the torture you have lived loathsomely
I am not a witness of the deep wounds of your centuries sufferings
And at the same time your greatness fascinates me as you live

In the profundity in your miseries
From stone - age to the age of Republic
You have lived and let live others hidden in the deep Sal -Saj and Palas forests
Culturally alive behind Vindhya mountains

I could only see you from distance alone in coiled existence
Crying helplessly and not answered by anybody
Sometime in the grave till my neck in the darkness
As light refused to reach you ever from have-not heaven

I was ruined and silent
Feeling for the moment myself Aboojhamaad
Part of Narayanpur.

I being the ‘Vahi of Angadev’
Would make my house outside the forest
Would try to understand myself in terms of their life
Would roam in hot air like a Good Samaritan
With body scratched I would cry

An angry- guerrilla jumping out of my own eyes
Part of the changing time
But every time my effort of promulgation would turn into a fiasco
My eyes my mind my ears my skin my entire body would scream
My dreams burnt death stood above life no one was to mourn
Leaving behind my caravan of hopes again and again all alone

Unfortunately ‘they’ lulled in sleep left starved people pale and worried
In spite of ‘horrid warnings gaped wide’.
And then not suddenly but slowly the world changed
‘‘They’ come with tags of Ernesto che and Mao on their hearts
Rifles on their shoulders declaring guerilla war
From tooth to nail in arms men and women
Targeting Raids and Rescue Missions Police and Peoples Enemies
A new killer ‘daring –do’ instinct replaced hunger deprivation and misery
Still everyone who had taken arm was not a communist

But killing the innocent brothers and sisters in train and buses
Exploding Rail-lines and bridges burning of farmer’s corn fields
Merciless killing robbery and rapes
Was an attempt of coward people not an act of bravery?
Not in culture of the age old free republic

And still unfortunate is the new line of reaction
Plans of so called responsible order
Combing operations thunderbolt search and cordon
The new language of new Millennium
Being spoken and understood in the porous red sand of ‘Iravati’ today

Unfortunate is the forgotten world of seven ascetic ladies
The swings of snakes ‘Lingdev’ becoming
Grandiloquent thought and fantasy
You can trace still Maria and Muria’s in Republic Day Parade in New Delhi
With Bison heads and colored pheasants feathers
Beating independence by their singing foot-steps and hollow hearts
But not in their homes


As now the people are in their peremptory exile with their own demy-god
P…a…h…a…n…k…o…l…a…d…e…v..!
This is only one part of the whole derelict India that is Bharat
Their ‘Incredible –India’ product of five-star op-pop silken beds
Eating drinking and believing in marry-go- round couture
Is no match to what they address cattle class.
They are the fortunate children meeting only in climax
In the so called ‘Gramvasini Bharat Mata’ show

With their unfortunate poor brothers or sisters
Or in their blogs or tweeter
Anyway one has to decide on which side of fence you stand
State or people
Have or have-nots
Exploiter or Exploited
Privileged or un-privileged
Militia or Peace Processors
The game is strange

Sometimes terror tops the ‘Agenda’ sometimes ‘Peace’
Then there are derailing strategies involving both sides and people
Tall claims made that ‘’trust deficit’’ would resolve ‘’outstanding issues’’
And like that talks… talks and talks work… work and no work
Become a process of conciliations not conclusions
From time immortal these round table tricks help in reaching no solution
Only nausea tic notions futile fracas boring boomerangs
Only sugar coated or foul- mouthed words register as chartered language
And then definitely we feel ourselves free forced to fuck the constitution judiciary
Parliament Executive Press and are declared in one word…Terrorists

My dear friend world is not that simple and good as it looks in globe
Or so beautiful from space
Things and situations are really formidable
The water is gone very deep and disappeared
The sky is wounded
The air polluted
The sun the source of all energy is sick like an old man
And we too busy in conferencing theorizing and other ‘Herculean’ tasks


Unfortunately we are not living on land but on map
Unfortunately what we call ‘it’ as constitution is but a simple scrap-book
Unfortunately what we oath as preamble is nothing but a cry of a corpse
Unfortunately what we speak or hear as our fundamental right is a cacophony
Unfortunately what we eat drink smell touch is an attempt of suicide or honor killing
Unfortunately we say we live but we exist only


We know our prayers and poems all cornered
No bliss no safety no assurance no faith no appeal no commitment no wonder
The gods’ one to all left the place or gone far away defeated or forgotten
The Rudra without herds the Lokpal without kings and knights
The Skand and Visakh without Commanders and chiefs
The Vishnu the Vasu the Indra without gods and goddesses
The Ganpati the Vishwakararma without leaders and architects of the Universe
And the deities representing all were slaughtered and raped by the swords of fanatics

You know it I know it we all know it that
Our hills have been sleeping like ‘Kumbhakarna’
Our forests encroached and looted by men and not by Demons
Our lands becoming future burial grounds of humanity
The fire extinguished
The earth becoming odorless
The water the hapless victim of exploitation
The sun inglorious the air scuffling light gods screwed-up looked real ogre
Crusading wars against ‘their’ people
And in this chaos
No place to live or to die peacefully

Oh my mother my son my daughter my wife my comrade
Why you all were not aware of all this
Still singing songs in admiration

Perhaps you still wait for the judgment day
Still believing in the stories of the fish-incarnation
Still assured that the lord Shiva would appear again to kill Andhak
To bring peace on earth
The Ganges would free sons of Sagar from the curse
The Bhagirath would come forward to take the lead
And life would revive and retreat

So like all human creatures you believe in truth
And say the truth is beyond and beyond
And cannot be achieved in one stroke
It is beyond the limbs of body and mind
Are you not innocently anarchists…?
Adoring eternal Vedas Bible or Koran
Proudly singing ‘JAN GAN MAN

After all
For whom?
WHO RUIN YOU !!
Sorry my dear sorry…!!!


The End

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Texte: "Copyright reserved with writer"
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.08.2010

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