‘System is too corrupt,’ my friend bursts i stay cool and offer my May musings ‘system is not corrupt, we are. who make the system, you, I. it’s minions’ rule, clay-foot, pig-heart, thick-skin, vultures waiting for dead cow. who suffer? the tillers, the traders, we all. who profit? the quadruped. friend, blame not the air or sky or stars shoot the lily-livered gentlemen, opportunistic torchbearers, hands ready to strangle the wretched, hands ready to touch the empowered feet, ever set to pledge honour of our sisters not for climbing mountains, to fish in murky pools. let’s be shooters and shoot
1 Bilkis! you are not Lucrece you have no lily hand or rosy cheek and your eyes are not marigolds, hair not golden threads either or skin snow white. 2 and why not? you are harmless you are a pure woman. and you are marauded not in feather-bed but on a fleeing highway truck, not by king Tarquin but by a gang of lecherous, leprous poltroons and the site of sacrilege is not Ardea it is Dahod. 3 truck seized and gale of carnage begins. men murdered and children smashed to death. blood spilled over your frightened face, You
A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."