RAM KRISHNA SINGH

Collects all of my published poetry books. Also provides an uptodate view of my poetry, especially haiku and tanka.

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Ram Krishna Singh is a university professor whose main fields of interest consist of Indian English writing, especially poetry, and English for Specific Purposes, especially for science and technology. He was born on 31 December 1950 in Varanasi, India. Apart from a BA earned in 1970, he gained his MA in English Literature from Banaras Hindu University in 1972 and Ph D from Kashi Vidyapith, Varanasi, in 1981. He also obtained a Diploma in Russian in 1972. Dr Singh started his career in journalism, as a Compilation Officer in the District Gazetteers Department, Lucknow, 1973, and a Journalist with the Press Trust of India, New Delhi, 1973-74. Changing to teaching he became a Lecturer at the Royal Bhutan Polytechnic, Deothang, Bhutan, 1974-76. Joining the Indian School of Mines in Dhanbad as a Lecturer from 1976-83, he then rose to Assistant Professor in 1983 and full  Professor and Head of the Institute’s Department of Humanities and Social Sciences since 1993 to 2011. He is now Professor of English (HAG).

A reviewer, critic and contemporary poet who writes in Indian English, Dr. Singh is the author of more than 160 research articles and 175 book reviews. He has published 39 books, including:  Savitri : A Spiritual Epic (Criticism, 1984); My Silence (poems, 1985); Sound and Silence (edited articles on Krishna Srinivas, 1986); Indian English Writing : 1981-1985 : Experiments with Expression (ed., 1987, rept. 1991); Using English in Science and Technology (textbook, 1988, rev. and rept, 2000); Recent Indian English Poets : Expressions and Beliefs (ed. 1992); Two Poets: R.K. Singh (I DO NOT QUESTION) Ujjal Singh Bahri (THE GRAMMAR OF MY LIFE) (poems, 1994); General English Practice (textbook, 1995); Anger in Action : Explorations of Anger in Indian Writing in English (ed.,1997); My Silence and Other Selected Poems : 1974-1994 (poems, 1996); Above the Earth’s Green (poems, 1997); Psychic Knot : Search for Tolerance in Indian English Fiction (ed., 1998); New Zealand Literature : Some Recent Trends (ed.,1998); Every Stone Drop Pebble (haiku, 1999); Multiple-Choice General English for UPSC Competitive Exams (textbook, 2001); Cover to Cover (poems, 2002). Pacem in Terris ( haiku, English and Italian, 2003), Communication : Grammar and Composition ( textbook, 2003), Sri Aurobindo’s Savitri : Essays on Love, Life and Death ( Critical articles, 2005), Teaching English for Specific Purposes : An Evolving Experience ( Research articles and review essays, 2005), Voices of the Present: Critical Essays on Some Indian English Poets (2006), The River Returns (tanka and haiku collection, 2006), English as a Second Language: Experience into Essays (ed. research articles, 2007), English Language Teaching: Some Aspects Recollected (ed. research articles, 2008), Sexless Solitude and Other Poems (2009), Mechanics of Research Writing (2010), Sense and Silence: Collected Poems (2010),  New and Selected Poems Tanka and Haiku (2012), and I Am No Jesus and Other Selected Poems, Tanka and Haiku (2014). His works have been anthologized in about 160 publications, while his editorial activities extend to include guest-editing of Language Forum, 1986, 1995, and Creative Forum, 1991, 1997, 1998, besides being co-editor of the latter publication from 1987-90, General Editor of Creative Forum New Poets Series, and service on the editorial boards of Canopy, Indian Book Chronicle, Indian Journal of Applied Linguistics, Reflections, Titiksha, International Journal of Translation, Poetcrit, Impressions of Eternity (ie), and SlugFest. He has evaluated about 50 PhD theses from various universities. He has also edited the ISM Newsletter for about five years.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

THE PROMISED NEW AGE

The dawn is still asleep in the east

don’t dupe us we are marching

toward the promised new age

we don’t cross the summit in one go

the hollow bamboos and dry blades conspire

to drug us in our own name

the summer loo batters the parched land

the yellowed fields in May and June

will not green. It’s never vernal here

The palm-leaf fan can’t quench the flame

the vultures of pre-liberation decades

are picking potatoes from a rotten heap

the city is a cowered dog dazzling in neon

they fight against evils and rots

with the anarchy of flags and slogans

the flood in the Brahmaputra will turn men into fish

they are not aware though I dream of the vast

land of lotus shining with young morning sun

R.K.SINGH

(composed on 30 May 1980)

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Friday, November 17, 2006

HAIKU: From The River Returns

H A I K U

Love tickles

with erect pistil:

hibiscus



Oleander and

hibiscus blaze with passion—

making love in sun



Suspended

on the spider’s web—

a hibiscus



Narrowly escape

the midair web of spider

perched on hibiscus



The lone hibiscus

waits for the sun to bloom:

morning’s first offering



Red oleander and

hibiscus calling morning

to Kali



Without washing hands

he touches hibiscus for worship:

her frowning glance


After little rain

lilies smile with hibiscus--

the sun in May


Too short

can’t reach the height:

hibiscus


To reach the branch

raising her other arm—

twisted hibiscus


Chrysanthemum

on the mossy roof

deeply rooted


Too big for its web

between two roses—

a yellow spider


In their webs

spiders racing to spin

their meatless prey


Around falling leaves

a lone dreaming flower—

mid-February


Stands alone in

the assembly of flowers—

Valentine’s Day


Not sad to die

blooming after a day’s rain--

the mushroom


Fresh mushrooms

hidden in decaying leaves:

missing the season


Shrouded in fog

the lone pomegranate

in the courtyard


Lying in the dust

a guava bitten off

by the parrots


Pausing between bites

on the guava tree

the parrots


Ravined inner shell

of the walnut—

his face


Her shapely figure

in orange blouse and blue jeans

strained at the hips


Taking a nap

on oranges in his shop—

a fruit vendor


He stands before

the nude Venus awaiting

her gown to drop


Diving in the sky

apsaras on the stone caves—

God-touch in motion


December morning—

the first roses in the lawn:

fragrance in passing


Leaves sway

to fly like birds

free in the sky


Waving down

a leaf settles between

her breasts


Veiling her breasts

with the season’s first snows—

the hill blushes


All night trees wave

with roaring winds:

autumn in the courtyard


Autumn’s mellow mists:

none available to clean

the carpet of leaves


The autumn flame

infects his reverie:

panic in the leaves


Bluebells and hazels

lost in rustic kisses:

morning stars burn


0n a lean

branch of neem swinging

a bulbul


A bulbul

watching from the snapped twig—

empty street


The courtyard stormed

with dried leaves and tamarind:

her frail hands sweeping


From tree to courtyard

cotton balls blown on the wind—

seed in the centre


Her scarf—

a rainbow of flowers

moving in the sky


Her visit—

a transient painting

on holiday’s floor


Painting mom’s smile

with broken crayons—

smiling Winny


Painting

spring with willow

as brush


Intruding

her voice

on the phone


Switching on

the hearing aid:

wife’s warm soup


With her saree

hitched up between the legs

my wife in bed


Raising her saree

above the thighs bends to ease

and blocks my way


Rising early

to make tea for everyone

the newly wed wife


Mouth opened

to lick her ice cream—

brown tongue


As the duo sit

lights go out—

sofa springs creaking


Dissatisfied with

each other the two of us

in an empty house


In the grey of dusk

sway between hope and despair

their dream promises


Leaning sideways

she looks at mango pickle—

caries ache


She repeats my ills

to express her anger but

I know only her love


Basking in the sun

files nails in garden chair

my wife’s friend


No joy in lighting

the candles this Diwali:

both the children away


Awaits his son’s

phone call from the border:

dogs and cats wail


His son’s voice

not relayed by wire:

tense borders


His first winter

inside a fibre-hut

swirl of snowflakes


Distance mounts

each time he visits home:

love’s last rites


With sweated smile

stands behind the broken fence

his aged father


Not age but

years of worries

his furrowed face


Shadow of age

on the wall—

second full moon


Whiteness of the moon

and rocks howl with the wind—

December in the veins


A star shines bright

beside the crescent moon

she fakes a smile

A crescent

in the western horizon—

missing the moon


A thin fog

hides the wintry moon

rising slowly


The sun not yet set

but the full moon rises

as if in a hurry


The half moon

on her neck reminds of love

before departure


Enveloping

all of the moon at night—

white chrysanthemum



After the party

empty chairs in the lawn—

new moon and I


The sky couldn’t retain

all of the moon now enveloping

my house through windows


Setting moon

leaves behind sparkle

on the waves


Noisy birds

don’t let me sleep:

midnight moon


Through the window

gaze at the moon hid behind

cloud after cloud


Fearing allergies

he misses full moon party

savours white light


Wet bodies

of bathing women:

full moon night


Squeaking

under the blue moon—

the dry sky


They all look for

a little more moon coming

back from movie


Standing behind

the window bars observes

darkness in shapes


Unmoved by the wind

he sits on a rock wearing

peace of the lake


Night bombing

leaves the garden

white as death


An A-bomb victim

from behind the window bars

bowing to the sun


Vultures waiting

for the leftovers

of the sacrifice


In the ruins

searching her photo:

evening


Alone

on her bed rings

the cell phone


A dead voice

calling up at dawn:

drowsy eyes


Waiting for the train

alone on the platform

swatting mosquitoes


Without humming

mosquitoes alight and bite—

all night awake


Leaving the signs

of mosquito menace

on white wall


All guests gone:

after the late party

night and I


Nothing changes

the night’s ugliness

in the lone bed


From wheel chair

unseeable

distances


Days after the ‘quake

staring at the rubble—

a homeless widow


This festival too

couldn’t change the cracked glass

now pen and pencil stand


Negotiating

the long sleepless night with

mantra and alprax

Alone

in a shrunken bed

aged love


In the well

studying her image

a woman

Knitting silence

my wife on the bench

after lunch


A moth

struggling for life

on wire


Searching food

in the street garbage

a dog and a girl


A kidnapper stands

behind the statue of Gandhi

to escape bullet


Smoking cannabis

at the Sabarmati—

2 October


The lone poet

watching his interview—

two minutes fame


Night’s rumblings

prayers add wings to breezes

morning’s serene calm


Meditating

in the morning sun—

his long shadow


Repeated orgasm

in the back: morning round of

halāsana


Unmindful

of the body’s joy—

the ascetic


A young couple

under the red umbrella

rejoicing privacy


First he, then she

wipes the post coital shit

with underwear


Awaking

before the climax

the other woman


Between virgin curves

he deep-breathes evening mist

rests in the hollow


Shell-shocked or frozen

he stands in tears on hill top

craving nirvana


The lone mushroom—

a pregnant woman

stares out of the window


Facing the sun

the lone flower

dying to bloom


A dead leaf hangs

by a spider’s thread

invisible in sun


Under the tree

in meditation sunken

a lone stone


Alone

on the National Highway

Hanuman


So many headlights

and my myopic vision—

walking difficult


They walk on red coal

matching steps with drum-beats:

carnival of ecstasy


Keeps him sleepless

fireworks and high decibel

puja all night


Sleeping

on the cold floor

a mother with child


Awaits sunrise

to hire an auto safely

sits at the bus stand


The young maid

giving her nightie

another spin


Two women argue

over price and weight of fish:

the hapless huckster


Carbon flakes drift

high above the flat I cough

they widen the roads


Burning tap water

and seething house in the morning

heat wave cripples


A bubble flying

from over the shaving brush

bursts on the mirror


The village pond—

waiting for her arrival with

a baited hook


Surviving

in the crevices

cockroaches


Cleaning dusts

from the bottles

unopened yet


Chanting mantra

with wine in one hand and

torch in other


A mother and child

stuck between concrete rubbles:

fidayeen attack


Setting ablaze

Muslim houses and children

seekers of Ram


White-yellow trail

the Mirage on mission:

ten souls buried


Amidst roaring guns

clouds blossom snow lotus:

light hilly terrain


On the margin of

home-to-work-to-home routine—

life’s achievements


Shivering in the cold

young boys sell balloons late night—

New Year revelers


Half-fleshed faces

track from behind the windows

rawness of journey


Journeying tries

to raise his silence

to prayer


Never enough

the earth’s hunger for graves:

peace barricaded


The red light is on:

they all have secrets to hide

no use peeping in


In measured pace

hit for divinity

two political golfers


Disposable blades

one over the other—

dusty switchboard


Seismic lab

a network of cobweb:

no earthquake for long


No Zen thought—

scribbling haiku with

gun in hand


Staring at the huge

Stone-penis at Shinto shrine—

two female lovers


With her breasts bobbing

up and down she challenges

the moon as she walks


Sees the eyes

in walls as I rise

to kiss her


Drowned

in empty whiteness:

love


Wiping tears

from each other’s eyes

two souls in love


Writing with strands of

watery hair on her back

a love haiku


Love of three decades

extinguished in a moment—

anger in the mouth


Shedding bitterness

of the tiff in sex act

she and I


Moist lips parting

on a tea cup promising

expectation


Tastier my tea

with her one sip—

I keep the cup


Bending down to pick up

apple she presses

piercing embrace


Looking lovingly

she bends his head down to hers

twines like a creeper


She preys the body

behind obsidian sheath

fatuous flap


After burns

leaving the body

the dead skin


Rain-soaked sun

sheds its sultry light:

her bare back


Her palms

the only lingerie

in Fashion Show


Crouching out of the bath

with hand on the genital

his new tenant


A pregnant woman

bending over the mushroom

bloomed under a tree


Awaits the bloom

of love in her womb:

silent action


Lovely with hope

the glow in her eyes:

no need of sun


Her body—

the night’s perfection

in dim light


Seeing her

a liquid sensation

between the thighs


On a canvas

a poet in twilight

painting her skin


Sensing her presence

he stares down the street—

lingering perfume


A star in making—

but an island appears:

the palm amuses


Sipping gin with lime

he says he loves sex each night

but hates the smell


Looking for Taj in grains

through sand-storm find history

trapped between toes


Bleeding fingers draw

new domes of betrayal in

windy matrices


He walks down the aisle

looking for the nave in her

to kneel and slide out


His tongue

between the teeth—

sudden sneeze


Fed up with my sex

she threatens to move

to our daughter’s room


Leaves him alone

to escape daily rape

in bed his wife


The bedroom altar

no substitute for temple—

sacrifice of sex


Winter’s chill—

sweating under the gown

her thighs and breasts


Scanning

her stooping breasts—

the first night


Measuring life with

ejaculatory rhythm—

envies sparrow sports


Her thighs—

resting place for my head

on bed


Trying to decipher

the complex curves on my palms

in the morning rays


Fondling her breasts

I incite a poem

on her body


A film of mist

between my eyes

and her image


Locked in her eyes

the bright glow

of the goddess


Melting in

the colour of the heart

the sun in the west


A lizard shrieks

before the climax:

love making


The blood passes through

green veins I hear the heart play

melody of dews


Every breath

love in action—

fire in the hole


No bottom reader

but the shape and the lines do tell

she can stir the soul


The aching limbs and

blood dripping between the legs:

love-making postponed


With his head between

the knees he squats and smells

the body’s sweat


Bones rattle to make

a song of flesh in the night---

togetherness


Insomnia

blaming her

not old age


Lies with her

in freezing cold:

an empty tube


Invisible

jangles odours presences--

twinges in bed


Drying on the line

pork venison and beef--

the room smells their vests


Don’t know their tongue—

the stars beyond the mountains

whisper among themselves


While I lie alone

shapeless fears rest on my eyes

heavier than time


Searching salvation

a moth flies into the lamp:

oily burial


Colours sparkle in

the morning’s dew on the blooms—

my breathing changes


Nobody cares

burial of my dreams

in coal dust


Besides allergies

so many other complaints:

sudden weather change


Bronchial breathing—

the only sound audible

in the soulless space


Noisy birds

don’t let me sleep:

midnight moon


Sparrows couple

on a withered creeper—

peep of day


He sweeps yellow leaves

or gathers years in a heap

burns to merge with dust


Cleaning dusts from

the old sandals for a walk:

again the same pain


Peeling paint

from the drawing room—

shadows flicker


Seeing no image

in the mirror of time—

foggy blankness


Hot bath or no bath—

the cough persists unmindful

of the New Year’s eve


Sees in a flash—

opening the eyes

takes a long time


Linked with anxiety

my comfort at his home:

Ph.D. viva


Fear of forgetting—

car insurance premium

paid a month ahead


Fears the approach

of night with him—

twisting tassels


In the lone room

prefers haiku to yoga

drinking scotch


My bedroom

a maze of cobweb

spiders breed


Sunday afternoon—

waving into gin

two drops of lime


Difficult to change

I am what I have disowned—

dressing down salads


The bed is short

and the covering shorter—

crouching alone


Unruffled

by passions and clamours—

Buddha’s calm


Seeks Buddha’s stone bowl

to win the bamboo princess:

she dwells on moon beams


Her heart

a thousand doors of

oneness


Standing behind

the window bars observes

darkness in shapes


Disappears

into dust her last

photograph


Trying to read good news

I look at the lines taking

new turns on my palms


Looking for riches

in her left hand shortening

days on the pavement


They sculpture psyche

in the city of dumb dreams:

idols sweat in sun


Pulling out white hairs

she reminds increasing age:

time’s fragrance unchanged


Still a child—

embracing a breast

sleeps her man


Exchanging

anger with roses:

petals fall


They all walk

like shadows in night

for themselves


Lying on his table

a few unanswered letters

and unrealized dreams


A little child

chases the painted dreams

on butterfly wings


Two butterflies

racing with each other

perch on the wire


A child’s fingers feel

the butterfly lying

one with yellow leaves


Sudden rain drops wet

the wings of a butterfly

lying at the basil


Lost my way again

asking for direction:

a pleasant change


Locked between the cracks

cockroaches in the alcove

dropping their eggs


Awaiting their turn

to feast on a dead dog

crows in a circle


A crow hits

the scare crow and cracks

its earthen head


A crow picking

at the ripe papaya and

another waiting


A yellow spider

on the blooming marigold

weaves tiny webs


Two lizards fight

to mate on the wall—

balancing act


Swiftly passes by

a yellow snake on the grass—

moistened trail of love


After the quake

a dog sniffing his master’s

presence in the rubble


Searching Christ’s sandals

n the pile of shoes at

the church’s entrance


Traffic snails through

the water-logged road I feel

a manhole cover


Dust mites devouring

the secrets preserved

in my diary


Seeing my shadow

three fish in the pond look

for a safe corner


In the well

studying her image

a woman


A hooker hides

behind the green letter box:

looking for a client


Cut wrongly

each body a slave—

grey faces


Too heavy

these man-made machines

choking weight


Students murmuring

over the class test result:

the teacher’s curved lips


In the moving train

sleeping on his feet

the newspaperman


Flowers inviting

seeds of love scattered in

the perfumed garden


Looking for a prey

a snake slides through the fence:

warmth of the sun


Safe from sun

under nascent leaf

a gold fish


After sleepless night

a drowsy sun tears

the morning sky


With sunrise

gone to sleep

the morning moon


Two dreamy eyes

await the rising sun

through the fogged window


A sweating sun

after the midnight chill—

changing hues of spring


The sun conceals

aeons of darkness planets

mirror in the sky


Closing its eyes

in the setting sun—

the Ganges in autumn


A cloud-eagle

curves to the haze

in the west


A butterfly rests

on the butterfly tattooed

on her sunning back


The sun not yet set

but the full moon rises

as if in a hurry


Setting sun

leaves behind sparkle

on the waves


Suddenly rise

the sleeping waves from far off—

‘quake in the sea


Swollen sea

boiling over the head—

roars increase


The sun rolls

on the waving Ganges—

whitens love-hope


On the wave’s crest

travels a fallen leaf—

rot on the bank


Couldn’t erase the wind’s

soliloquy from the waves

breaking on the shore


Traveling back

from the waves of bliss

a foam-leap


On the waves rise shells

in accents lie with love—

beauty on the shore


A lamp floating on

river breast in bridal grace--

waves in the gloaming


Bathing in thousands

they float lamps on her breast

the river sparkles


Knee-deep in the pond

standing obeisantly

nude worshippers


Ends with ritual

one more morning—

sun-worshippers in the pond


Awaits the sunrise

in the chilly Ganges

a nude worshipper


Sees visions

eating food of gods—

mushroom


Fills the void

with illusions and self—

names them god


December almost

over what new wish to add

to Christmas wish list


On Christmas eve

santa claus takes leave—

mist on chairs in pairs


Standing

between flowers

Jesus on the cross


Making holes

in the wooden cross

white ants


Colours of envy

stick on their colleagues’ faces:

Holi revelry


Krishna offering

parijata to Radha:

Narada looks on


The temple’s dome

in the flooded Ganga--

empty kalash


Fermenting spring

in the arms of lovers:

a secret sin


The cherry pink

in the spring—

a framed nude


Embrace

suffocates in bed—

chill seeps through slit


Wintry chill—

enters the cold bed:

skips morning walk


Winter allergies—

I stay inside to escape

the wind in full moon


The long night passes

sleeplessly I deep-breathe

the December chill


Alone and sleepless

count hours by asthmatic bouts—

the long winter nights


A part of the night

hidden in the morning moon:

the sun waves bye-bye


Nothing changes

the night’s ugliness

in the lone bed


The first night

spots on the sheet:

clothes wake up


Long wintry night—

opening the mail box

for a date


Vulnerable

darkness of the opening:

standing erect


Whiteness of the moon

and rocks howl with the wind—

December in the veins


Seek my haven

where the sky arches the sea—

a white gull leads


Stars mock his drinking

alone on the cement bench:

moon in the glass


Spend our short time

together after a long

watching the moon


Enveloping

all of the moon at night—

white chrysanthemums


Seeking smell

in cactus flowers:

late monsoon


Awaiting rains

for the litchis to sweeten

in the dry backyard


Clouds don’t rain

coldly come and go—

icy bed


All night rain

the gaping roof

her shelter


Sudden rain

on the way home—

a peacock


After the night’s rain

the sky’s still overcast:

wet Christmas today


Through thick clouds

sees an arc of moon—

her belly


Shadow of age

on the wall—

second full moon


Lonely nights and

days of non-stop rains—

depression mounts


Traveling

on the wings of winter

ill news


Celebrating

return of the light and warmth:

winter solstice


Feels the shadow

with wet fingers

in the fog


Mist surrounds:

the steel statue watches

few visitors


Morning fog:

her face invisible

even the sun


The evening fog:

invisible her hand

on my shoulder


Slowly clears

the morning fog—

end of the year


Swollen fogs

ready to make way

for the sun


Her make-up spoilt

in the evening mist:

looking for light


After dust storm rain

alloy with cool colours:

rainbow in the west


Splendid with the moon

night in silver peace dreams

through folds of light


Sees beard

shining in the mirror:

morning on the face


In a flash

trapping eternity—

the camera


Post-lunch solitude

filled with thoughts that couldn’t become

even a haiku


The first night:

spots on the sheet:

clothes wake up


A sly lover

ejaculates poison—

sting operation


With glittering diamond

on the navel swinging

an item bomb


The phone rings:

in the middle he rises—

prayers unsaid


With a telescope

view the lunar eclipse—

midnight shadows


Out of wood and stone

he carves his vision of peace:

night’s secret visage


In the ruins

searching her photo:

evening


Suffer animals

with a peculiar smeel:

men in white khadi


Crossing the shadows

in the Indo-Pak match—

the last ball


Drunken with force

spreading the century’s sore:

nine eleven


Freedom to kill

with faith in divine regime:

terrorist’s peace


Watches the snow rain

with finger on the trigger:

insurgence in Drass


Reaching nowhere—

ideas flying from the minds

of top echelons


Himself doesn’t

listen but teaches

communication


Her anger shifts

from manure to cellphone:

10 o’ clock soap


Winking at her

in the dark—

power cut


Two peacocks

on a dancing spree:

see water


Dancing

a few muddied crocs:

the river returns


Nibbling a leaf

between her fingers

a dragon-fly


A small frog

leaping on my hand

from the pothole


Birds crouch in nests

along the snow-clad path—

wheezing silence


Away from home—

smell of frying fish

in the air


Swimming afresh

in the glass box

two gold fish


Peace in silence

of the heart and body’s cells:

Buddha’s calm


Weaving its nest

Grass blade by grass blade

R.K.Singh


Sad and dull

his backyard poultry—

fears of bird flu


Mooching about

a rose petal in the sun—

a butterfly


An orgasmic view

from behind the car’s window

the Taj Mahal


Perches nervously

on the fence a squirrel

nibbling its luck


Puppies groping

for the tits of our doggy

relaxing in sun


Sudden screech of tyres:

a frog from the pothole

perches on the car


Selling tea

a mustachioed Mizo

in shanty


Awaits the train

in November night—

insects all around


Truce between

two lizards inside

the light fixture


Ten fish in the tank

rising in twos threes or fours

to the bait atop


Hiding in the shade

of toilet brush in the bath

a frightened mouse


Awaits a rickshaw

under the gulmohar tree

a girl with lilac


Jumped over the head

a sticky frog on the ground---

stoning to death


Alone

the cellphone on her bed

rings


In the changing hues

of rainbow in the east:

sun and lightning


Flashing a rainbow

at the dining table

her diamond nose-pin


Reflects the rainbow

in the mirror of water—

Yamuna Bridge



Copyright: R.K.SINGH, Haiku included in THE RIVER RETURNS(2006), Bareilly: Prakash Book Depot