Dom Moraes Poem by Bijay Kant Dubey

Think you not an English poet
Just like Dylan Thomas
Posing with a cigar lit and burning,
Smokes arising,
Ashes trailing,
The butt
Held in between the fingers,
A romantic
In the flight of imagination,
Not a poet exactly
But a journo,
One of Goan descent
And that too an alcoholic
In his alcoholism.

Was to marry and divorce
The character,
The loose character of yours,
Marrying and divorcing,
Loving and living
And separating from
One by one
Henrietta Moraes, Judith,
Leela Naidu,
Understanding it not
Their sensitivity
And it happens to
As and when men get fame
Too early in life,
Isn’t it, Dom?

A drinker he imagined of life
As being a drink
And a divorce,
A misguided Goan
He got haunted by
The ghosts
And thought of
Being an English poet
Over assessing himself,
But in reality wasn’t he
An English poet,
A falsifying and bloated Goan.

And the things about
His new partner
Sarayu Srivatsa
Still not clear to me,
Who she was,
Why was she after all,
An architect collaborating
With him
In new writing,
Not clear to me,
Don’t mind,
A debauch and a drunkard
Were you, Dom,
Frankly speaking?