The Grass Is Shaking

Poem By Khurshid Alam

The grass is shaking
a mouse may be nibbling
at the root
The grains will soon turn
into heaps under the anthills.

Outside millions will bend on their knees
Or sulk in the alleys
or peep into the dark well
or crumble, scream and die.

Or will I see some from the folk
Shooting at the American Civic Association
tearing stomach of innocent people
Why should they die of starvation?
They should die from the bullets instead, instantly?

Note: Publsihed in Muse India, Sep-Oct 2009.

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A Drop Of Dew

A dropp of dew can enliven
the thirsty buds
can cause a new life
can create a reason.

The Mysterious Man

My mother scoffed at us for ours no fault
She had put sweets from offerings in a box
To distribute the sacred eating equally among us all:
“All should have equal favour”, she taught.

An Inclusive India

Ajnabi is registered a Christian at school
And bargains exemption of fee by half
And all miscellanies full; and sings hymns
To Jesus and celebrates Christmas.

In Disguise

They take shelter in the auto rickshaws
in the daylight and sit in much calm
in much commune with the police on patrol
and invite the passers-by at Laldarwaza.

I’m Slave To Myself

I’m slave to myself.
I’m slave to my desire:
My desire is boundless.
I’m slave to my fantasy:

Weave Dreams Into Act

We sleep to dream
We sleep to dreams
We wake to act
We wake to facts.