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Creation and Criticism

ISSN: 2455-9687  

(A Quarterly International Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal

Devoted to English Language and Literature)

Vol. 07, Joint Issue 26 & 27: July-Oct 2022


Ukraine War and Other Poems by RK Singh

Ram Krishna Singh, also known as R.K. Singh, has been writing  for over four decades now. Born (31 December 1950), brought up and educated in Varanasi, he has been professionally concerned with teaching and research in the areas of English language teaching,, especially for Science and Technology, and Indian English Poetry practices. Till the end of 2015,  Professor of English (HAG)  at IIT-ISM in Dhanbad, Dr Singh has published 52 books, including  poetry collections Tainted With Prayers/Contaminado con oraciones (English/Spanish, 2019), Silencio: Blanca desconfianza: Silence: White distrust (Spanish edition, Kindle, Spanish/English, 2021), A Lone Sparrow (English/Arabic, 2021), Against the Waves: Selected Poems (2021),  Changing Seasons: Selected Tanka and Haiku (English/Arabic, 2021), 白濁: SILENCE: A WHITE DISTRUST (English/Japanese, Kindle Edition/Paperback, 2022), and SHE: Haiku Celebrating Woman That Makes Man Complete (e-book, 2022).   His haiku and tanka have been internationally read, appreciated and translated into several languages. He can be contacted through his email:


1. Ukraine War


Enchained by his own

creation in Ukraine

Zilensky now counts


his wounds and sees

a spectacle of ravage

before extinction


Joe Biden couldn’t help

the avalanche of night

now wrapped in rubble


none left to shed tears

keep memories of the sun

now steeped in darkness


2. New Fantasy


From the 15th floor window I watch

dreams racing on the muddied road

the ugly beauty of tomorrow


the romance of the miserable

the egotist, the cunning, the heart-broken

the idealist, the maniacs, the enlightened cheats


the crafty and the unlucky too

who conceal cavity in their shoes

in the gallery of Great Tech Game


fabricating newer lies and hypocrisies

of saffron politics, secular faith and people’s power

spilling blood to heal history of wrongs


create new cultural fantasy

new racism, new slavery

homegrown narcissistic lords and ladies


3. Narcissist


Seventy-five years

no development

he brags to self-brand

democracy of

divide and disturb

peace with rhetoric

woos with fabrications

like Trump deludes histories

adds novel culture

to keep his hands clean


4. Who Cares?


Mist in the eyes

holes in the soles

and no plan-B

to hit Goliath


who cares I’m a poet

without day job

or pension for food

and medicines to live?


I too have rights

but I’m no politician

or seer with cheat code

to tame shadows


5. SHE : A Fragment



rocking chair:

sun through the clouds in


after days of rain

and nostalgic nights


she hands me

a lukewarm tea of

ginger, clove

and honey to make

love and stay alive



shadows fly from my fingers

with the moving wrist—

the hand disappears


I can’t touch her heart

under the tan skin:

they waver behind the glass


hissing through clenched teeth

as I sip my drink

she gives me a frozen smile



who can see

except myself

the ghetto within?


I laugh away

when she senses it

in the façade

of the forgotten

I reinvent

searching miracles

in her annoyance



she props the stooping lemons

with stake but avoids

bending close to me:


I die to draw the blossom

in my twining arms

but she likes the other scent



she’s graceful

on bended knees


head bent, in peace


victim of whip

can’t pull back

past happiness

love’s sharp tongue


he’s no lug

can’t see the gems

in rain drops

her aura shines



I feel her hyaline influx

in my deep love leaps

from the soul with subtle glows

her breath runs through my veins:

this vassal of the flesh blushes

as I drink the infinite in her



don’t question the lips

that wilt the tongue

licking wetness in the mouth


the mystery of delight

prophecy of the birth

by salty swallowing


make new parables

with face mask surviving

one more gospel



To see you naked

is to recall the earth

says Garcia Lorca


it’s no sin to love

strip naked in bed, kitchen

or prayer room


the bodies don’t shine

all the time nor passion

wildly overflows


but when we have time

we must remember parts

arouse dead flesh


rub raw with desire

peeling wet layers through light

sound, sense and taste


play the seasons:

the thirst is ever new

and blissful too


to recreate

the body, a temple

and a prayer




I can’t know her

from the body,  skin,  or  curve

the perfume cheats

like the sacred hymns chanted

in hope, and there’s no answer


her lips

crimson with paan

stings my heart:

smell of saffron and cardamom

melts in my haiku


each syllable

allergic pollen and dust

her autumn tongue

one more song to prick with

new variant, new wound



she lies on her back

eyes closed

feels foam on the waves

butterflies too


in the park

seeing the green in her eyes

joy wells up:

she feels the silver blue

the leaves breathing her touch


looking for image

of divine on the wall

to pray or chant

a mantra  or hymn in mind

she leans on him to kiss


butterfly cushions

flutter the skirt

flame flickers

ground to whiteness

for her feast



the darkness of bedroom

a tree’s silhouette:

she whispers its masked presence

and says no to making love


cloudy night

restive aloneness

cold pillow

breathlessly seeking

rest in her curly touch


in the white of night

sighs for supreme delight

steal tender pleasure

manipulating wetness

in bed unmask simple sin



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