https://atunispoetry.com/2023/03/31/ram-krishna-singh-india-2/
Ram Krishna Singh (India)
Ram Krishna Singh, also known as R.K.Singh, has been writing for over four decades now . Born (31 December 1950), brought up and educated in Varanasi, he has been professionally concerned with teaching and research in the areas of English language teaching, especially for Science and Technology, and Indian English Poetry practices. Till the end of 2015, Professor of English (HAG) at IIT-ISM in Dhanbad, Dr Singh has published 56 books, including poetry collections Tainted With Prayers/Contaminado con oraciones (English/Spanish, 2019), Silencio: Blanca desconfianza: Silence: White distrust (Spanish edition, Kindle, Spanish/English, 2021), A Lone Sparrow (English/Arabic, 2021), Against the Waves: Selected Poems (2021), Changing Seasons: Selected Tanka and Haiku (English/Arabic, 2021), 白濁: SILENCE: A WHITE DISTRUST (English/Japanese, Kindle Edition/Paperback, 2022), SHE: Haiku Celebrating Woman That Makes Man Complete (e-book, 2022), Drifty Silence (e-book, 2023), and Poems And Micropoems (2023). His haiku and tanka have been internationally read, appreciated and translated into several languages.
More at: https://pennyspoetry.wikia.com/wiki/R.K._Singh .
NEW SLAVERY
From the 15th floor window I watch
racing on the muddied road
dreams the ugly beauty of tomorrow
the romance of the miserable
the egotist, the cunning, the heart-broken
the idealist, the maniacs, the enlightened cheats
the crafty and the unlucky too
who conceal cavity in their shoes
in the gallery of Great Tech Game
fabricating newer lies and hypocrisies
of saffron politics, secular faith and people’s power
spilling blood to heal history of wrongs
create new cultural fantasy
new racism, new slavery
homegrown narcissistic lords and ladies
SEARCH FOR LIBERTY
Why do they ignore the clitoris when half the world has it?
the lovers don’t care, the doctors don’t talk
it’s no leaf that falls on the wave’s crest
and rots on the shore before they prescribe
a chocolate remedy or testosterone cream
to revive in dapple light:
denial is the way of life
be it desire, emotion, or frailty
for conformity, unity and control
the redness of the setting or rising sun
is too much to the drab colors of the priests
who accuse of heresy, witchcraft or immorality
to shut the so called hot beds of sedition
when all they seek is stoppage
of the show of teeth, blood and skull
in the spinning wheel
condemned to nursing home
HEAVEN’S BREATH
I don’t know how to negotiate the long steep trail
with hidden scorpions under loose rocks
at home with human muck in a valley existence
strolling upward through a thicket of TV images
politics of glory, garbage and god
the odd arts of money, hierarchy and control
nobody knows who unmakes whom
I don’t know how to follow the ridges
back to the trail and the dead river
but stand for a moment to rub the sand from my feet
before worrying about the lost vitality and fear
of the approaching night and rising smoke
dissolving in the sky or conspiring with elements
hardly in balance but contorting the psyche
I don’t know what is there for me to hope
when the rains rejuvenate and flood both
the repulsive stench and the loss of pathways
linger longer than the flavor of the first drops
under the tree the puddle feeds no sparrows
but algae that couldn’t dry now trap tiny souls
that fail to swell with heaven’s breath
ONE MORE POEM
I don’t long for the past that swings and rings
I don’t care for the future I colour
with empty wishes prayers and meditation
dreams’ dark inspiration carves the present
I suffer more at night than in the day
breathe hell seeking freedom in the body
through friends in spirit turn sanguine despite
the tricky degeneration in shared life
one more day passes one more poem born
LET IT GO
Silent gaze of paper deities
from the little temple
in a corner in bedroom
fills me with hope:
anything may happen anytime
despite uncertainty
unending jealousy
or tragedy in life
I look for grace within
contemplating the unsaid
in the rhymes of rogues and heroes
I’m not afraid of
the body in crumbled soil
there’s always another chance
to re-form my own present
re-write another half-page
in drunken oblivion
God is going to let it go
HERE AND NOW
I don’t deify poets or politicians
nor trade in faith for bread
I don’t sell gods and goddesses
spirit is not my profession
nor do I give moral discourse
for life in the next world
I am a man like millions
who dream, struggle, and die
and nobody mourns
my drifty silence
hidden in darkness
flecks of light
enough to weigh down
here and now
AGAINST THEWAVES
The crowded lift and emptiness of the flat
doesn’t help me resurrect what’s gone
late at night I may pile hopes on a pale paper
trying to invent a new life to live with
end up seized by pain trolling in the shady light
double bed, blank mirror, and still greyer dawn
the pillow hurts, the image derides, the prayers fail
the roaring inside, the ghostly silence
and unfading darkness. I’m no Odysseus
but keep straying against the waves
BEFORE THE MIRROR
Stand naked
before the mirror
see changes
from top to toe
a tragic tale:
loosened muscles
stretch marks on the knees
varicose veins
and a long journey
from eyes to anus
itching, bleeding
swelling, aching and
degenerating
with fears in restroom
bedroom, car, airplane
the virus haunts
from tummy to temple
issues have me
coming and going
yoga or no yoga
it’s not ageing
but undying sensations
feelings I peel
to stay synced with energies
that play not with one but two
to define love
rescue the self and other
make room for truth
far from the fetishes
in the maze of mad pursuits
SHE : A Fragment
i.
rocking chair:
sun through the clouds in
verandah
after days of rain
and nostalgic nights
she hands me
a lukewarm tea of
ginger, clove
and honey to make
love and stay alive
ii.
shadows fly from my fingers
with the moving wrist—
the hand disappears
I can’t touch her heart
under the tan skin:
they waver behind the glass
hissing through clenched teeth
as I sip my drink
she gives me a frozen smile
iii.
who can see
except myself
the ghetto within?
I laugh away
when she senses it
in the façade
of the forgotten
I reinvent
searching miracles
in her annoyance
iv.
she props the stooping lemons
with stake but avoids
bending close to me:
I die to draw the blossom
in my twining arms
but she likes the other scent
v.
she’s graceful
on bended knees
supplicant
head bent, in peace
victim of whip
can’t pull back
past happiness
love’s sharp tongue
he’s no lug
can’t see the gems
in rain drops
her aura shines
vi.
I feel her hyaline influx
in my deep love leaps
from the soul with subtle glows
her breath runs through my veins:
this vassal of the flesh blushes
as I drink the infinite in her
vii.
don’t question the lips
that wilt the tongue
licking wetness in the mouth
the mystery of delight
prophecy of the birth
by salty swallowing
make new parables
with face mask surviving
one more gospel
viii.
To see you naked
is to recall the earth
says Garcia Lorca
it’s no sin to love
strip naked in bed, kitchen
or prayer room
the bodies don’t shine
all the time nor passion
wildly overflows
but when we have time
we must remember parts
arouse dead flesh
rub raw with desire
peeling wet layers through light
sound, sense and taste
play the seasons:
the thirst is ever new
and blissful too
to recreate
the body, a temple
and a prayer
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