In my dreams, only in my dreams, you, Gwalior monument
Brick and mortar Rajasthani marble piled high
You are generous. You kept your promise well.
Starting to write a poem about you
    I landed up with a noble toy
But this is not the age for toys, for dawdling days away,
Nor for being carried away by Ganga hymns
       like Rabindranath.
Both my happy times and sad times are fleeting.
How long is a rail bridge? Like them, I am
A bit of a lament. Not the Brooklyn Bridge
Of American poet Hart Crane.
At meetings they say, I meant to rhyme you with train
But you know everything.
Not for us to chime or meld together,
You are drifting in the shade on a gondola far away.
In my dreams, only in my dreams, you, Gwalior monument
Utterly the Gwalior monument, brick and mortar Rajasthani marble piled high.
You are generous. You kept your promise well.

A glimpse of a young girl’s disarray, the day the first flowers bloomed,
Then wandering through lanes and bylanes, I found the stairs
    to you, poetry.
Alone, lonely amazing steps - that never reach the palace
Steps, only steps, alone lonely amazing - and the Communist manifesto
Goodness! What nonsense I spew, like a madman
My job is to write poetry
The stairs are the mason's job, the yellow house
That too the mason's; my job is to write poetry.
In my dreams, only in my dreams, you, Gwalior monument
Brick and mortar Rajasthani marble piled high.
You are generous. You kept your promise well.
You placed your hand on my head,
You piled your thighs with Kapas cotton,
But peeling of peanuts do not match my poems.
Nut shells are banned for air conditioning! Kissing too.
There is a law against tobacco leaves. Oh shoot!
More the words I gather for my poetry farther they scatter
Much like you and my wishes and dreams. No breeze,
The leaves of the Jatropha tree are still. Yet
Tidal waters spread, keep spreading.