Naciones Unidas de las Letras-Uniletras2Indice IlustradoPrincipios FundamentalesEstatutos*CREANDO EL FUTURO DE SEMILLAS DE JUVENTUD SIGLO XXINo solo de pan vive el hombreNo más Palabras,.AfiliaciónMensajes de Opinión



Los Derechos de Autor de todos y cada uno de los escritores  publicados en este portal están protegidos por estatutos y registros editoriales internacionales. ©®


Pof. Ram Krishna Singh. * 2015  Miembro  Honorario,  2019 Embajador de Buena Voluntad. India
Bienvenido a la Paz para nuestro tiempo y el tiempo de nuestros hijos y los hijos de sus hijos  a través del cultivo de las Bellas Artes en los jardines de su mente y sus corazones.  Joseph Berolo Presidente Fundador



El Poeta utiliza la "poesía" para investigar y comprender cómo el lenguaje espiritual y sensual nos  acerca a la comprensión de la realidad divina  

 Profesor (Dr.) Ram Krishna Singh.Dhanbad, Jharkhand, India



                           SELECTED POEMS AND MICROPOEMS

English/Spanish Followed by  an Ebook  December 2019, Antology Poets XXI Century


Poemas y micropoemas selectos 

Interpretación y Traduccción  de Joseph Berolo,
EBook Diciembre 2019
Antologia de Poetas Siglo XXI    

Ram Krishna Singh Página web, Continúe leyendo

Querido Joseph Berolo. Gracias por el honor acordado a mi poesía en Naciones Unidas de las Letras  permitiéndome llegar a su numerosa audiencia. Reciba usted y todos los miembros  de Uniletras mis mejores deseos póeticos. RAM KRISHNA SINGH,


After the Act 

They practice death
in school and blame India:
terrorist politics.

No wake-up call
be it Nawaz or Modi
power luxury
in angel costume
each invokes divine

After the act
ritual truth burial
and peace politics.
Después del acto
Ellos ejercen la muerte
en la escuela y culpan a la  India:
politicas terroristas*

Sin llamada de alerta
asi séa de Nawaz o Modi,
la lujuria del poder
vestido de ángel,
cada cual invoca
la condenación divina 
 Después del acto
el entierro ritual de la verdad
y  las politicas de paz. 

I find the good in the worst of people: 
Nawaz Modi Singhania Nawaz
SocialLeader  India 
Yo encuentro lo mejor en  lo peor en la gente . 




It's near but
every place has a distance
and people too
they flee to see
me in their vicinity
sense a danger
I don't belong:
they curse me for what I'm not
self-made misery
traps them to hell
I can't help their doom nor stop
their wanton rage
down to smallness
they hate only themselves and
sculpt new sorrows
I must erase
the debris of dreams they leave
and be at peace.

Restos de sueños

Está cerca pero
cada lugar tiene una distancia
y la gente también.
Huye para no verme en la vecindad
sentir el peligro
al que no pertenezco.
Me maldicen por lo que no soy.
Su miseria consentida
en el infierno los atrapa..
Nada puedo hacer en su condena,
no puedo detener su rabia sin sentido
reducida a nada...
Yo debo borrar los restos
de los sueños que ellas dejan
y estar en Paz.




Between midnight and three
I babble images
my grandson fears to hear
and kicks me in bed, warning
if I don't keep quiet
he won't sleep with me



The hole between words is vaginal
if the mind could penetrate
 the seed won't question age
inside the lines it crackles
 with orgasmic pleasure
meanders through the tunnel
from first breath to oblivion
stays erect, liberates the text 


I hate to end up 
an anonymous failure
repeating the routine
exploring the others
reviewing what is not
there should be time for me too
to turn the leaves between orgasms
the fleeting moments of poems
and the whole lot of deathsd



November morning-
too many thorns to reach
the only rose
and the tormenting thought
that I am forsaken
if I die today
it won't matter to any-
I have no worth
they all care for themselves
search nearest in curved space


I've lived so many deaths
now I fear living
 there's so much ruin
inside and around
 no tattoos on breasts hide
the rusty cauldrons
 none hear the raging fire
voices multiply
 the darkness of earth seems
beyond verbal face
 sun is stopped in temples
stones explode in hands
 it's vain to dream a new
picture of the world
 the viewless shapes of gods
eternal twilight 
it's no use flying so high
the sky seems shattered
  the city is haloed
in saints' blasphemy




Hiding helplessness
in the luxury of prayers
he raises a wall
a babel of deception
through cocktail of drug and desire
meanders through dream-
miracles and wakes up to
unheard alarm
each morning repeats rituals
ageing time is ashamed of






Evening walk:
a peep into my own
lanes and bylanes
bodily harmonya sense of inner calm
soon disturbed
by TV debates, news
and serials
over sliced apple, snacks
and distorted wholeness
before retiring
swalow pills to mitigate
her rising hackles
that walk me through to death
of desire for love in bed




To win elections
they sponsor chaos chanting
Modi, Modi
kill tongues that utter dissent
or oppose foolishness
in the name of Ram
cow, love jehad, reform
close all windows
making dysfunctional
the holy Constitution
with small deities
watching periodic tango
pop up dinners
global collaboration
in newer territories
without money pouring in
dreams rise and sell
feet forward, mind backward
relishing lies of
gourmet journey





Variously hued
neo-knights knock voters' doors
search the holy grail
howling, trolling, abusing
baying for blood, lynching, rape
exposing designs
for new history, geography
and deity in mosques
set right blunders they didn't write
reclaim rights they always had




They don't hear
the silent screams
tired of misfortune-
play games of convenience
innocent voters
sordid life-
nation's destiny




Between the mossy and thorned pathways
shadows slant. He trumps the press and praises PM
wisdom splashed in gonzo arguments
cocks the walk. Others too feel his sting but prefer
silence. They know the caged parrot's free
to shame seven decades of democracy groomed
differently. They know how weak they are
to stop the burning forest's ash from reddening
now aberrations clot in the mind
await Ram's hanging before the wounded converts
count the cries, lashes and piercings





My words
like the body
are shrinking.
I've ceased to speak
what I feel
I've ceased to think
what my world has become-
an entombed existence
there's no redemption
nor the third day to rise
the cross is burnt
and so is hope and love
for silence to speak





Stranded in the past
sparkling glasses in hand
preach ancient wisdom
to the new generation
diving nude in the dried pool
to corral them along
the fence they sit bumfing
through knowledge googled
for the next day's session





Strolling in the alley
he watches the road turn drain:
it was dry till she came
now it's dust and smoke
muddy and toxic
day in and day out
he breathes in poison:
listens to a dying sparrow
near the gutter
midwinter the rising sun
drives him to Seroflo
and manage his restlessnes




What could be happy 
about New Year's Day
when they burn plastics
and filth on the roadside
make mud or swell smog
all day and all night
I suffer restlessness
count cows in the lane
or flies in the kitchen
neighbours love to live with





For divine bliss in the morning
they call out cows to feed rotis 
then chase them away from the gate
for fear of smelly holy shit
the whole day their game of redemption
through achche din* in holes screaming
minced onion in the eyes and
ready to rob the cerement
from bodies buried by strangers
raising new slogans on sunset
*better days





Back to the wall
chained to the past
enemy pulls
where is the breath
of fresh air
to move forward?




Who sees the smoke
of the thumb-sized flame
the body burns
the ashes of silence
float on the holy breast
tears pollute



Nestled between smog and dust
my church faces a collapse
beyond miracle: I can't
stand up to resurrection
 there's no third day for my soul
no third eye for Shiva in me
God is too old to revive
the rhythm that was my once
 I'm now defaced, mired in scams
constantly raped and buried
in chaos of abundance
hope and unanswered prayers
in journey through crevices
love convulsions and faith shops




My time is now
the day of salvation
where is Father?
playing patty cake?
I sit a potted plant
and wait at the doorstep
tumbling sun and shade





Luck awaits me
if I could buy it from
her miracles stores
she gives me three dates
for her call to reach
the higher cosmic forces
she dreams me stand
in the middle of a
tree-lined park
against saffron flowers
flashes of light focus
on my serene face
the shower of gold tempts
a being of light descends
I'm offered a new life
divine abundance
defeat of enemies
and stream of love
if I could pay
for her rituals of
angelic magi.







The deities are dumb
so they speak
louder and louder
vie with each other
for godhood
descend from mosque top
to Supreme Court
now await





I live in a crowd of fakes
smallness rises with age
my mind has ceased to think
new metaphors hardly happen
hunger keeps me awake all night
I mitigate minginess
the inner lives emptied
and filled with fresh stresses
too many fault lines run through
to make sense of the divide
my passion itches and prompts
I nuzzle the virtual to
it's the same virus aground
the same hackers that hurt
the vigor and rigor of
the new, left, or pushed behind
whatever the remedy
wounds take deaths to heal.





She doesn't like to see me
take bath in the sun
or cross the doors naked
the body frightens her
even in the dark
as if buried in dust
the whole year passes
with her turning on me
like rheumatic twinge
emptiness haunts
with mind in the gutter
poetry unsafe




What is there to relish in heaven
if the vulgarity of relationship haunts
even after retiring from earth?
the loose threads of yearning criss-cross memory
I can still feel the river's twisted flow
toward lower reaches, exhausted and strip teased
the nudity of moon and stars is beyond touch
who cares I evolve or end like them
suspended from a plane I can hardly reach




peeping through the fog
the sun feebly comforts
a sparrow's nest
built under the window sill:
i hear a new-born crying


my face
locked in her hands
i can't look-
love's changing shapes
a bird in cage


scratching his groin
a worshipper offers food:
the flattered deity
in flowery garbage, holy
water, incense, & sweat


one more plateau
to negotiate between
lapses in bed:
the moon shines bright & naked
I brave her cold lashes




I thought I'd locate you
in the dark lonely street
but I myself got lost
mind's mazy prompts
shocked me into nakedness
I never perceived
the misleading sun
the unreal reflections
the dumb show
dazzle my eyes
shades of terror in alleys
smell of treachery
at the crossroads
the selfish gene's tarots
of my random choices
in dim blue light
smiling breasts invite
autumn breeze
I chuckle to myself
hearing raps of inverse world
and peace in sin,


Ram Krishna Singh Página web, Continúe leyendo

ensure that the stanza pattern of the original is maintained when the poems are copied and pasted. In the translations, however, you may follow a pattern that is considered best.hiaku poems in three lines have been mixed with other haiku. Each haiku is a separate entity and should remain as such. These need to be separated and should not be read as one poem.


Dedicado al poeta amigo,  intérprete y  fiel  traductor de mi poesía Joseph Berolo quien ha venido cultivando incansablemente las mente y las artes uniendo a los poetas del mundo.


1. New dawn 

I love the night with you
when sleepless we yield
to passions of the body
tugging the nagging divine
in the mind ageing fears melt
and dry between the sheets
for a new dawn to set in

Nuevo Amancer
Amo la noche contigo
Cuando dormidos nos rendimos
a las pasiones del cuerpo
consintiendo la divina molestia
en la mente,, antiguos miedos
se derriten y secan entre las sabanas
en espera de que llegué un nuevo amanecer.

You can´t scent me 
You can read my mind
even know when I'm blue
before the mirror
when I stand in the dark
you can't scent me
nor will words comfort
in chilly December
when alone in candle light
empty coffee cups
deride the syllables
I spin to make haiku
my hairs in air
reveal the baldness:
wank without wad.  


No puedes aspirar  mi esencia

Puedes leer mi mente
en los poemas que escribo
aún cuando estoy lívido
ante el espejo.
Cuando permanezco en la sombra
no puedes aspirar mi esencia .
Las  palabras de consuelo
en un diciembre helado
cuando solo a la luz de un candil
con tasas de café vacías,
se burlan de las sílabas
yo doy vueltas componiendo haiku
mi cabello crispado
refleja la calvicie:
una paja sin varita mágica.

Dreams of Clay


They make my face ugly 
in my own sight
what shall I see in the mirror?
there is no beauty
or holiness left 
in the naked nation:
the streams flow darkad the hinges 
of doors moan
politics of corruption
I weep for its namesand the faces 
they deface with clay dreams



Sueños de arcilla


...  afean mi rostro
ante mi mismo.
¿Qué debo ver en el espejo?
Allí no hay belleza
ni queda santidad
en la nación desnuda:
los riachuelos corren negros
y las bisagras de las puertas gimen
politicas corruptas.
Lloro por ellos 
y los rostros que desfiguran 
con sus sueños de arcilla.



Ram Krishna Singh Página web, Continúe leyendo



The path to the mastoid mountain is snaky
the women you meet are not fucking material
you can't grab the sun shining in their hair
they're cool but hell-strong, know well how to take care of their wood
so have some charm within the lust-house of your heart
and enjoy the gathering clouds ready to burst
before you cross the distances
or strip naked in the sticks
or write poems on stretches of free way
or make deal with the devil at every turn
be wary of the emptiness ahead.



Dreams puzzling
smallness of waking
I can't live
the child's circumcision
promise of happiness


Hours of silence
and a lot of walks:
no facile words
no touchiness
no paranoia
no pilgrimage
but chanting within
through the declining day
the inner acoustics
on a hilltop
no cloudy incantation:
gasp for nirvana.






I'm no god nor beast
I can't live alone
can't sail with the stream
even if foolish
seeking chimeras
imploring in vain
finished relations
link pigs, snakes, monkeys
crowd the pretences
in my head suspend
all formulations
now no more cleansing
spirit viruses
and false oracles





Do we need to pay
for peace with God through Jesus?
access Him by faith
or buy His abundance
grace, fervor sowing seed of
US $123
my prophet friend asks
for rejoicing in hope of
the glory of God?
I'm an eternal beggar
on a tortuous journey
with no money flow
--my well is dried up-
how long can I be 
definite with the Infinite?
and dream more that what I need?
image outside of the box
pay the priest for his
prayers and good words?



Priests on strike-
locked temple gate
Tuesday crowd
 deity too denied
weekly offering
 trustees warn
sacking them if not
returned next morning
 Moon energy
fills up the inner space-
call to wake up
 or be hostage to wounds
that don't autocorrect
astral faults
 knitting the luck
amidst the waste gods spread
I smell the rot



living long but failing
to live wide
says Seneca we are
fugitives from ourselves
the busyness
and weariness of now
we toss about
regulating our sleep
by one another's
love or hate
what others dictate
we get duped
our time lost, without
inner wholeness




Smell of moustache
in the glass of sherry 
drinking honeymoon
horned rage undissolved
we still share space
each day churn love
fading roses chase
high flying sun




No odysseys
under water or space-
retreat within
writing poetry in bed
confronting words to evade
the dead or dying
timidity of body
its libidinal romps
and circuitous lies





A shadowed figure
sleeps in half-dark, face hidden
in blanket's colour
I grope its head, hair or feet
with bated breath remember
the Holy Ghost
to contain the post-midnight
murmur in mind:
I don't see the sleep-talk
my wife hates to suffer
and grand-children fear
I don't let silence sleep
even if none hear
the disturbed spirit
growing wild to say
what I never say





Feeling sick with sensory poisoning
and the rising malaise is the black bile
I ooze, do nothing but
unweavethe mind lost in emotional memories
and body in the swirl of sensations
sweating the cancerous stress, meander
through the nerve pathways, the fleeting shadows
the vague silhouettes, the colors in dark
rise to make me naked in bed
and I yell expletives in half-sleep
without knowing the pragmatics of response:
I hate the odor of my urine
and the cycles of rectal bleeding
no video game but frustrating
invading the mind and memories
susceptible to viral infection
medicines or no medicines I must
escape the empty wreck piled within
lest the body's hormones system explode
and the balance without is disturbed
making me persona non grata





Frazzled and restless
bouts of anxiety
addiction, sleeplessness
spinal degeneration
pain in the neck and back
numbness in the legs
loss of teeth, libido
anal bleeding etc
failure to stay focused
and dying desires to do
what I used to do
are not mere ageing
things get hairy, scary
with body failure
ailments pop up
spirit dries up
mind disconnects
I'm hardly centred
to clean my age's turd
on inner chakras
meditate and forget
the memories' load
and die a new being,




Hidden from the eyes of others
I was made in secret
but can't remember my birthfrom
foetus in the womb
to severing of the cord
erased the memory
now rootless in the valley
fading sensations of years
pierce the darkling wings of
world wide web that blob my being
twisted and tangled, brushed
away like a fly hate mongers
hash tag my creation
pirouetting platitudes




How can I contain
her destructive energy
she conceals what she is
her toxic attitudethey all see
as she unshapes destiny
of her cornpone plots
in elitist mode
she lets down her own folks
with mendacious fabrications
brings doom to her own children
who were born innocent
brings shame to her husband
who seeks to see them rise
brings dishonor to us all
who hope to see her change
despite the vanity wall
she raised for years
she won't know what to do
when her parents are dead
or even we are no more
she can't even weep
or scream on anything she touches
she may then squiggle in her fate
alone in a lonely room
while others may look and not care





I live in a crowd of fakes
smallness rises with age
my mind has ceased to think
new metaphors hardly happen
hunger keeps me awake all night
I mitigate minginessptied
and filled with fresh stresses
too many fault lines run through
to make sense of the divide
my passion itches and prompts
I nuzzle the virtual too
it's the same virus replicating
the same hackers that hurt
the vigor and rigor of 
the new, left or pushed behind
whatever the remedy
wounds take deaths to heal





The ride in the car
from airport to back home:
my belly swings
the puke is too much too quick
the day ends in head with what
I'd take to get well
erase memories
of love's pace in an 
ever burning house
dog-earing pages
of the fragile world I wrote
and caught myself
again and again
gaze through the darkened space
decay with aged trees





Away from home in academics
sex, philosophy and religion
I've been skeptic about all these years
revels of hell in lost memories
couldn't be a new dialect for spring
turn nude with refreshing orgasm
I still wander in my mind with fire
but no heat or light, sterile emotion
routs the spirit to live making
all presences dark and absence
fears are no bread from heaven
nor unfilled emptiness any sky
yet the eagle flies with wide eyes
nose opened to stinking patches
the mud- and ghost-scapes that yield
mandate for dreams wrapped in nightmares:
I live preying for liberation
and decay with divinity.





I don't know who shops my books
or cares for sexy and wholesome
for the time I showed up first
I haven't made any money
transcending decades and not
belonging to back-scratchers
or goody-goody poetic
academia and press
trying not to seem better, or sell
I have stayed bold and alone
a work in progress perhaps
even without audience here
or maybe, I simply don't fit
the politics of writing now
but long after I'm dead
buried or burnt to ashes
I may rise again
a tiny phoenix mapped in
fresh DNA of silence
from google's graveyard






Visit Vinayak
each day new prayers inside
years old faces
at the threshold hit their heads
the dumb deity stays unmoved
spiders' network
between two photo frames
bridge or bury
sensations no longer
spurt action in silence
with how I look and
feel right now
seek a best version
and just look within
too small to explore
the sea of the unknown:
island existence
breathing hell of darkness
dreading hungry excursions
an island
between the head and fate lines
bridges black hole
in life's labyrinth shadows
move always ahead of me
no one around
before the paper deity
dead flowers
giving me the push
"quick, get up," I hea
on the prayer mat
the hands raised in vajrasan
couldn't contact God-
the prayer was too long and
dreams puzzling
smallness of waking
I can't live
the child's circumcision
promise of happiness
in the white of night
sighs for supreme delight
steal pleasure
manipulating wetness
in bed unmask simple sin
the cup of remorse-
begging bowl
before the dumb deity
years of noisy silence
her name
a soothing music
in the mouth:
I forget the pain in back
I seek the sky in silence
in the icy wind
my fingers
she fears the chill
on her cheeks
light switched off
for love sliding on
window pane
moon too shies away
behind the bare trees
with potent love vibes
new moon and 
eclipse energy
to last a life time
waking to a morning
tainted with prayers
on the toilet seat
nude nature waves a dull sun
smitten by the night's long eclipse
the darkness of bedroom
a tree's silhouette:
she whispers its marked presence
and says no to making love
full blue moon-
divine channel from heavens
arrival of Easter Sunday
end of May-
scorching heat follows
rain and hail
before iftaar this Friday
prayer promises bliss
last night rain
paves way for a clear sky
this morning
the breeze is cool and the sun
adds a new hue to the springsource of salvation
depository of sins
no cake cutting
in church promise of reaping
if I could sow recovery seed
dark street 
chaos on the road
fear delays
homeward move at nine
lumpens lie in wait
peeping through the fog
the sun feebly comforts
a sparrow's nest
built under the window sill:
I hear a new-born crying
choking air
in a walled colony:
two tired pigeons
perch on overhead tank
whisper pity on us
when change comes
things change they say-
sight beyond sight
in the wealthy vacuum
all is well with limping days
earthy body
and nightness of silence
fear in mirror
return to the river
echoing hollowed soundwearied winter
each night bed a living grave:
drying breathing passage
and lonely shadows
delaying disaster







Ram Krishna Singh, nacido  criado y educado en  Varanasi,  es un profesor universitario  retirado cuyos intereses principales son la Literatua Inglesa especialmente la  Poesia   y estudis especiales de Cienciua y Tecnologia.Ha sido profesor de Ingles durante cuatro décadas   para estudiantes de  UG y PG  Cienciuas Minerales e Ingenieria.,.

Autor de más de 160 artículos de investigación, 170  criticas de libros,  ha escrito  42 libros , incluyendo Savitri: Una épica Espiritual  (1984), Escritura India Inglesa : 1981-1985: Experimentos con la Expresión, (1987,  1991), Uso del Inglés en Ciencias y Tecnologia,   (1988,  2000, 2010) Poetas Indu Ingleses : Expresiones  y  Creencias,1992, Comunicaciones en Inglés  : Gramática  y Composición (2003), Sri Aurobindo’s Savitri Ensayos eb el Am or , Vida y Muerte (2005), Enseñando Inglés para propósitos específicos Una experiencia involvente (2005), Voces del presente: Ensayos críticos sobre algunos poetas ingleses.   (2006), Inglés como segundo idioma : Experiencia en ensayos  (2007), Enseñanza de  la Lengua Inglesa  Recolecciones de algunos aspectos (2008), Mecanicas de la Escritura investigativa  (2010), Escribir, Editar y Publicar , Memorias  (2016).

Su poesía publicada incluye Sentido y  Silencio : Collecion de poemas(2010),  Tanka  y Haiku (2012), INo soy Jesúsd  y otros poemas selectos  Tanka yHaiku (2014), No puedes aspirar mi esencia y otros poemas selectos (2016).. Miembro Honorario - Embajador de Buena Voluntad  Poetas del Siglo XXI   Naciones Unidas de las Letras. India,

Notas biográficas Instructor conferencista y profesor del Indian School of Mines en Dhanbad 1976-83, Profesor de Inglés y Director del Departamento de Humanidades y Ciencias Sociales 1993/2012- Actualmente se desempeña como Profesor de Secundaria (Higher Academic Grade) Investigador, crítico , y poeta contempóraneo, sus actividades editoriales incluyen: Editor invitado del Language Forum, 1986, 1995, Creative Forum, 1991, 1997, 1998, Coeditor & , General Editor Creative Forum New Poets Series, y miembro de Consejo editorial de Canopy, Indian Book Chronicle, Indian Journal of Applied Linguistics, Reflections, Titiksha, International Journal of Translation, Poetcrit, Impressions of Eternity (ie), and SlugFest.. Editor del ISM Newsletter.Dr. Singh ha evaluado cerca de 40 Tesis de grado de PhD. Su obra ha sido explorada en numerosas tesis M.Phil. and Ph.D. de varias universidades. 

Su poesía y obra en general ha sido traducida a más de 18 idiomas y otros tantos dialectos incluyendo el Farsi, Esperanto, Kannada, Tamil, Hindi, Punjabi, Telugu, and Bangla. Publicada, entre otros medios virtuales e impresos, Incluye Perspectivas Criticas de la Poesía de R.K. Singh, D.C. Chambial and I.K. Sharma (ed: K.. Dominic, 2011) La Ira en la Poesia contemporanea Hindú (Vijay Vishal, 2014). 

DIOS TAMBIÉN ESPERA LUZ.Colección de Tanka y Haiku -- GOD TOO AWAITS LIGHT,tanka and haiku, is now available The poet uses "poetry to investigate an understanding of how spiritual and sensual language brings us closer to an understanding of divine reality. "El Poeta utiliza la "poesía" para investigar y comprender cómo el lenguaje espiritual y sensual nos acerca a la comprensión de la realidad divina

·        Editor : CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform (September 19, 2017)

·         Language: English

·         ISBN-10: 1975993845

·         ISBN-13: 978-1975993849