Married at fifteen

to a drunk of thirty.

Mother of three

and not yet twenty.

Barely a child

small and slight, burdened

to fend for fiend and four,

joy for her never more.

Slap, hammer, blows rain

on young tender face,

bruised and swollen.

'I fell' says she with grace.

He writhes in pain,

liver is gone, medicines

from borrowed money,

to douse fire in the belly.

He lies dead. She grieves.

Good riddance some say;

'my hopes gone'

anguished is her wail.

Contradictions of life;

can anyone explain?

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Girth of 24 pushed, squeezed and squashed

into a berth of 6, spared by co-riders.

Stirred and shaken, I hang on to dear life,

with legs swaying wildly, miss being severed

by a whisker, as the kamikaze driver

maneuvers through sea

of two and four wheelers,

and their kin, big and small.

Blaring horns, cussing words,

mingle through haze of dust and fume,

on this ride to work.

For those minutes ten, churning thoughts

remain suspended, eyes take in the hoardings

of politicos defiling the road, asking for votes.

Hands folded, faces smile, veneer of humility belie,

unable to mask the arrogance in stance and eyes.

Hawkers intermingle

some find hanging space for their wares

creating apt accessories.

Passers-by stop and smile

at the delicious irony, made in larger frame

on this ride to work

A twinge of pity, for soon, some goons

will hammer the daylights

out of the poor unsuspecting body,

not knowing for what the thrashing,

tomorrow’s newspapers will not carry.

Ride comes to a halt,

auto-eject as we spill out

moving in tandem, till we separate

to our various destinations.

Work of daily tasks, cries for attention

till next ride to work.

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