Wednesday, 15 October 2008
why are you dressed as a tatterdemalion
slyly slinking behind chrome-plated drains
escaping torrential rains hiding in the alleys,
you who lived on the valley in a big villa
are depleting it of memories, sacred to whom save you?
you sold the antiquated doors and now scour floors
sweep the courtyards where even now ghost
of tribal artifacts weep. who really aligned those
in that abandoned house now totally lie untouched.
Yet at night in the moonlight uncivil guards curse
screaming obscenities at you.what do you do when you
are lost in meditation. still your pride resurfaces,
cutting deep into you. meanwhile you try tenuously
to hold on unforgettable words which you only you
scavenged out of rot. Seems like you took a shot
at living life to the full again, unaffected
by your poor, beggarly, ruggamuffin state, which I had
known was fake, a eyeswash to others for your own sake.