The
stars went
where you are
now, in that darkness
where Sun does not shine.

Brevity of rot in wheeling
Memory and thought and feeling
Deviation from direction
Trajectory is shot and keeling

alleviation from all reflection
obfuscation of my projection
something leaks from my skull
flirtation with my own defection

thrumming bleats, a searching squall
for refunding or reaping or any recall
of memory or thought or feeling
Hunting weakly then withdrawal

Entropy is not appealing
Elegies a clot to dealing
Dedication to direction
Empathy without the healing

You came down like a gleaming sunbeam
One that gave me hope
I stared at the You the whole day
Waiting for Your call

Each time it turned a different hue
I grew sicklier and starved
Step by step I was edging
Closer to the cliff

You left me hanging
But also scared that
You would stamp on my hand
And leave me to my misery

Surely you won't dare?

But now retrospectively I see
Clearer than any brighter day
How things turn out to be
And I fall down the pit to eternity

Now I catch the words as they fall
Out from my mind into these
Words that I cannot appreciate
Until it is all over

Do not call my father the dying man,
for his weakness' are not his failure but virtue and a testament of his character.

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while his breathing is labored, every breath is taken with valor and inner strength

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while his eyes are glazed, his heart remains true, his mind unbroken

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while his fingers tremble, and his body is frail; his spirit speaks volumes

Do not call my father the dying man,
for while he is sick, he is no burden, no shameful person

Do not call our father the dead man,
for he always lives within our thoughts,
The memories, the dreams, and the questions that will never be answered.

The seventh day was over long ago,
Time decays and things grow old,
You are gone, the Earth has you now,
And yet I still find you somehow.

Where you once sat, a shade appears,
Where you once laughed, an echo rings,
Where we once danced, your touch grows near,
Where we once slept, my body stings,

I can still feel you in my heart,
And it feels that we’re not apart,
Why would you leave me behind here,
Alone on this accursed sphere.

You were the brightest of my day,
You were the stars of my dark night,
We were happy, just this past May,
We shone with joy, that gleaming light.

She holds you now, in her embrace.
Is it cold, under nature's grace?
I am old, she will hold me soon.
Make sure to wait for my own doom.

In the streets of Delhi advertised on every sign,
Is the British army’s need for you to buy buy buy.
It may cost your turban, your home your family, and the worn clothes.
But it’s for the greater good right? of the empire of them ‘s and those.

When you pass the gender and notice his cracked lips,
And coughing and dying son,
You feel sympathy as you would for anyone.
But you can parch him as your son cant starve too,
And that’s just the law of the untouchable that are below you.

Despite your status being not much better,
You walk a stranger to their leering eyes,
As you were the clean white sashes and ties,
But they don’t realise the shackles you are also in.
As the phrase goes that you see on all the ads.

“You can’t make your own confections,
You can’t save your own possessions,
You can’t even built out of your own wood,
Because for the good of the empire of the greater good,
You will serve to pay the fees that are higher than you can afford to do.”

When you think of that as you walk these deep streets you can’t help walking in a way of shame,
As you know you can’t blame these overlords,
But the submissions and laws of old,
That they stole and now uphold.
Never to be loss of my shackles,
I pass these streets, and go on to Mumbai for the next delivery meet.