As I turn pages
Of a small book
The spine shuts
The words weep
Your final outsidedness indicates
No more midnight rides in a rickshaw
With Laxmikant Pyarelal who you heard
And clearly hated - as much as Kalyanji Anandji
The night sky sighs
Stars declare a bandh
Paradise, disintegrates
Into nether-world dialectics
God and Satan
Plus Karl Marx
Welcome you
Along with Ram Bapat
But on planet earth, who'll provide answers to questions
Located in high theories and modernist occlusions
No one to belt out the narrative, in broken syntax
On par to Dostoevsky and perhaps even Musil
GPD: This adieu to you
Should be penned in Marathi or Mandarin
All that prevails is silence
And an empty glass of whiskey
No comments:
Post a Comment