The poet is a waterfall

Didn’t I tell you so?

A poet is a waterfall

not a lion

Then why are you terrified of me?

The waterfall doesn’t destroy dams

the waterfall doesn’t drown the cities

The waterfall brings to the cities

the saga of the forests

It reminds the cities of those sounds

which their ears have long forgotten to listen

those melodies which were onerous to listen

the dark shadows spun in the light

the stories of beings who are entitled to the earth

I had indeed told so

A poet is not a lion

that would drink from the forest dwellers’

share of water, and become a possessor

of its own people

poet is just a waterfall

Didn’t I tell you so?

The waterfall just calls out

and the jungle gets together

even the city comes running

the waterfall gives up its life

by merging into the river

which you throw your dirt in

The poet is just a waterfall

So why is the establishment terrified?

Why is the river silenced

The bars of the prison

can’t keep the waterfall

the wet cold floor

frees not the body

but the voice of the poet

the poet is just a waterfall

my voice will reach

the womb of the earth

then it will sprout like a plant

no matter how long you put me behind bars

my voice will spread

far and wide

The mother of the creator*

That women, who is mixing dirt with dung,

got created from prancing raindrops on the simmering earth.

Shaping dung-mixture between her palms,

She is made of sunshine that emerges from the side of rain.

The women, who carving the dung cakes, is original

and the artist who created the world is her child

Poetry is not iron,

but cuts the iron.

In iron there is no poetry,

but the sharpness of poetry.

* Rati Saxena

To my granddaughter **

My granddaughter is not talking to me

Neither on skype nor on what’s App

She is no more interested in the stories

Of naughtiness of Zu Zu squirrel and Lina princess

She does not like to talk about the monkey and tree,

Which lived in our hearts

My granddaughter lost her childhood on the day

her birthday was not celebrated due to lockdown

her Daddy is gone for special duty to the hospital

her Daddy did not hug her after returning back home

he was a different man,

staying in separate room

with mask on

Eating in separate utensils

conferencing over phone.

She is lost her smile on the

day, she was asked not to hug him or

Climb on his shoulders,

Her only rest place is the right knee of her mother

who is working whole day on the computer from home

I understand that this is not time to tell her the stories of

the jungle or animals, princes or squirrel,

but I must tell her that there is always a struggle in this world

which is sometimes called war.

This war is against darkness for the light.

This war is against evilness for the goodness.

This war is against death for the life.

In this war, there are some warriors

who fight for evil in the front line

they standup in front darkness

and try to give life to light

In every war the warriors have a different dress code

In this war the warriors have white and blue dresses

Your Daddy is standing in the front row

he is fighting he is

collecting a bit darkness in his cells

When he returns home

he wants to save you,

I am sure, she will get back her childhood

when her daddy will tell her stories of life after the war.

** English Version: Shelly Bhoil