On Poet A.K.Ramanujan

No way I'm noted.. Perhaps behind him at the most farthest Or just one foot up the poetry stairs.. A bhuddhist child of Hinduism With his own ism of words Interestingly I treasure-hunt repeatedly On his obscure zone of meaning And I slap my folly each time.. A stylish poet to word-wit Even pain to be 'put into a white tunnel' And death metaphorically.. The scorpion to burst its back To give birth to multiple dying A poet By a parable of five brahmans Yet to declare 'No fifth man' As for him'poetry too is a tigress Except there's no fifth Man left on a tree When she takes your breath Away' A poet Whose mind can beg his hindu-body To go with it'to rise in the sap of trees' To 'feel the weight of the honey-hives And the burlap weave of weaver-birds' And To my poems.. He inscribes his stony words and throw For me to expiate my flaws No way I'm noted For he'll not look behind But he can look down on me For he's high in the skies And me, just one foot up The poetry stairs down 'I salute you sir'