Birbal Singh Poems

Art thou a winged thief?
As bards have called thee.
Or as called that great scientist,
An illusion.
...

Poems grow like plants
irrespective of the land,
soil, or climate.
They grow in lands fertile
...

I am clinging to my life
like the last
leaf
clings to the twig
...

Under the fierce sun,
the coal black road burns,
among honks and beeps
all parched and drenched
...

Long before I met you
your presence was felt
you were there to tease my dreams
in fancied memories of love
...

I cannot promise you only flowers
cause thorns are inescapable
I cannot promise you only light
cause dark is inevitable
...

Your memory touches my mind
like soft breeze
touches a lake
and makes ripples
...

Those that I killed
are buried under the surface.
The surface,
where I roll my boulder up
...

Thus, came you, into my life
early rays of morrow
into a dark night
brightening everything in sight.
...