Creation and Criticism

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: profrksingh@gmail.com.

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 15^th 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

(i)

rocking chair:

sun through the clouds in

verandah

after days of rain

and nostalgic nights

she hands me

a lukewarm tea of

ginger, clove

and honey to make

love and stay alive

(ii)

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

(iii)

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

(iv)

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

(v)

she’s graceful

on bended knees

supplicant

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

(vi)

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

(vii)

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

(viii)

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

6. TANKA

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

seashore:

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

intruding

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