Keki Nasserwanji Daruwalla (Keki N. Daruwalla or Keki Daruwalla) is a major Indian poet and short story writer in English language. He has written over 12 books and published his first novel "For Pepper and Christ" in 2009. He is also a former IPS officer, who retired as Additional Director in the Research and Analysis Wing (RAW).
He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award, in 1984 for his poetry collection, "The Keeper of the Dead", by the Sahitya Akademi, India's National Academy of Letters.
Early Life and Education
Keki Nasserwanji Daruwalla was born in 1937, in Loni, Burhanpur (now in loni, burhanpur), in 1937. His father N.C. ... more »
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Keki Daruwalla Poems
Suddenly the Tree
The hive slept like Argus its thousand eyes covered with bees.
Before The Word
Corn is great, on the cob or otherwise, but before corn in the ear there was life.
The sea came in with her and her curved snout and her tin coloured barnacles and long threaded rose moles patterned on her body.
Sappho To Aphrodite
Long and lonely are my nights. Come help me Goddess, end my blight; her absence burns me, burns my sides with love intense.
Fire-lit half silhouette and half myth the wolf circles my past
Alexander Crosses The Hellespont
He was a little tentative when it came to the East. Its ways were quite insidious and odd to say the least.
I am alone in the house. It is warm but I feel cold. The doors swing open across the years.
Perhaps I'll wake up on some alien shore In the shimmer of an aluminium dawn,
Migrations are always difficult: ask any drought, any plague; ask the year 1947.
If you want a cage, my dear you do not have to travel far.
They are naïve, those who suggest that the fortunes of the ruler and the ruled go hand in hand. Take the plague of 1350,
All it takes to blight a language is another sun. It's not burn that does it, or chill, or the way
A Take-off on a Passing Remark
Tall buildings impress me the ones which cut off half the sky. I like tall stories, even though false; not the half-truth sleeping with the half-lie.
Notes From The Underground
The wind is cold and the wind burns. The wind is cold and the wind is acid. On the Bar counter ice and amber swirl in thick gleaming glasses;
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Suddenly the Tree
The hive slept like Argus
its thousand eyes covered with bees.
The light as it fell through the neem tree
was a marine light, in which
yellow moths set sail
from one perforated shadow to another.
The hive was mystic,
a drugged mantra
with its dark syllables asleep.
As the afternoon wore on
the honey-thieves came
and smoked the bees out
and carved out a honey-laden
crescent for themselves
and left a lump of pocked wax behind.
The bees roamed the house,
too bewildered to sting the children.
At night they slept, clinging
to the tree fork, now ...