On an evening dance show I wasted a ciggerate on thoughts
The light shimmered on the ball,
The music was new, all the songs were turned into stew
A soup of melody and a constant beat
Trembling the floor and the ceiling~
I gazed upon the upcoming crowd
"A beer" They crooned.
The ancient smell of vomit and liquor gassed up the entire floor.
The ciggerate, it burned too loud, and the poet was not allowed,
Saddned by the echoes of silence in a room full of noise, I left the premise with nothing but nicotine stains and words without sentences.
~
The ladies, cursed by design
The men, manipulating the minds
The children, running to hide.
Where are the people who once promised a dinner?
Where are the shackles of chains that were
Left unattended to the working class?
-
I saw him throw the trash at the
river that sprung from a feet of a cow.
Vrishabhavathi, she cries.
A symphony of dead plastics and living garbages.
Decorated by the lush pink trees
With the smell of rotting cabbages.
-
Did they bring more people to build a holy land?
Did they fight communists holding flowers in their hands?
Were there people overlooking the waters filled with foam?
The forests filled with food packets and rotting homes
-
If a tree fell in a forest. Would you fuck me?
This way?