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...who is a POET??...he is...but a dethroned king sitting among the ashes of his palace trying to fashion an image out of the ashes...
..he is the poorest of the poor..yet he carries an oasis in his heart cultivated by the caravan of his thinking...he is a pauper..but he still pretends to be a ' prince ' in the kingdom of his vivid imagination..
..he only sings when he is starving for he cannot sing if his mouth be filled with food...
..he only raises his hand to beg for he cannot raise his hands if it be filled with gold...
..his wealth is his winged imagination and fictive power to think...and ' thinking ' always acts for him as the stumbling stone to ' poetry '... :) ;)
..he is a tree watered by the river of beautiful thoughts..and carries in his heart a lamp unconquered by darkness..
..yes..he seeks NIRVANA..not by counting coins of gold..but in leading his sheep to greener seeking a smile from putting his child to sleep..and in writing the last line of his poem... :)

...he will be unheard until humans honor the dead and forget the living..for then only upon his ' death '... ' he ' will rule their hearts...and his kingdom will have no ending... :) :) ;)

Monday, 8 February 2016

poverty's child

whoever you may be
be as a blood
to a bleeding answer
i am a wound
who lives on blood
like a beautiful leech

the last 

hundred rupees
has been withdrawn

everything turns
cold and numb
like death!!
like a gangrene
ripples into my
and maybe my skin too!!
bruised and defeated
wearing the carcass
of penury
i run from everyone!!
the newspaper vendor
the cable guy
and my weather friends!!

buried in my cocoon
i go to
the darkness of my room
where hunger is my only friend
the smiling cup of tea
my only solace!!
battling monsters
in this dark obscurity
' now ' after ages
i dust the cobwebs
of my mind
as i try to write
this cursed
and damned
poverty's child!!
even this borrowed bidi
has now started
showing tantrums
it refuses to light
this flesh is really sad
but i laugh :) :)
as i rot
and burn
in this fire

:  rupee is an Indian currency
   bidi known as poor man's cigarette is an Indian cigarette wrapped in a tendu


Anonymous said...

Enjoyable post thank you

usha said...

You have tried very well to write about this cursed and damned poverty's child story!!! thank you for sharing the post..

asteria's canvass said...

u r growing day by day as a poet :)

Kriti said...

Deep indeed Rigzin! Keep sharing your wonderful blogs with me! Love them.

deachen angmo said...

I can see a great poet in you. Deep thoughts reflecting from every single line. Glad to read your poems.:-)

deachen angmo said...

I can see a great poet in you. Deep thoughts reflecting from every single line. Glad to read your poems.:-)

ArchanaC Kapoor said...

Very intense! And very well expressed too...

Cheers, Archana -

abhishek Gautam said...

i am a wound
who lives on blood
like a beautiful leech. . .
Wonderful poem
. .every word n phrase strikes the mind like a chord and then it tell us to reread it again. . .ur poem is like this. . keep writing

Ismita Tandon said...

A wonderful poem! I love how it gushes out. What a beautiful flow of thoughts. Lovely indeed.

Simran said...

Poverty is an evil fire which burns each little good thing.
Once again, a classy and a thoughtful piece of writing, Riggs :)

Valli said...

Deep and touching! :( Very well expressed the nature of poverty. No one should suffer from it :/

Saru Singhal said...

Heart wrenching, poigant and beautiful.

Mel -Mel said...


Mel -Mel said...