Not born, just walked from mother’s womb
The hunter, chasing muse in the forest of literary sanity
His poetry-the eagle’s beak
Singing change of this naked land.
ISRAEL, the bard of lyrical island
Spit on my head, piss in my belly
So tomorrow I swim in poetry’s pools
In the chamber of lit.[i]
Where I walk with confetti of joy.
Israel, the tortoise is sane
But snail is wise,
You drink wine with the gourd of sage.
And the mighty Israel
Whose strength is pebbles’ niece,
He can only grip the Everest-poem
With the bone of pen.
Your words are roaring stones
To crucify the culprits.
How long you’ve travelled?
In the trousers of earth
From the dawn to the dusk,
There are many garments for life,
Today is still in tomorrow’s pouch.
How long the journey of earth
Before crossing the bridge?
Tell me the morsels you’ve swallowed
But you know not other s remain.