the last sin
  pale ashen sky
a bleary eye
clouds of recurring screams...
i am a zoo
  an octopus leviathan
tentacles into an ocean
of unformed emotions...
syphilis and love  
  syphilitic pall
stifles the clear blue
i contort...
shell and pearl
  amidst highs and lows
in life's ocean flows
a shell peony-mouthed...
i am an unmarried mother
  fed on stings
of barbed milk morality
my child-plankton...
the lovers
  cell upon cell
bridge of their union
hung on the pillars...
  ogre of age
and time cavil
at a warm picture...
the young today
  innocence thaws
at the altar
of ambition...

butcher of gujarat

wipe that grin off your smug face
you wolf in white
how can you look people in the eye
after you presided over the rape
of innocent girls on threshold of puberty
you voyeur you depraved
how can you walk the earth
when you reviled its terrain
with half-burnt corpses of faceless strangers
who did you no harm
choking many an unborn to their death
you renegade son of the soil
your moralising is not just out of place
it's corruption of the soul
you underbelly of evil
how can you face yourself in the mirror
after the dying look of that thirteen year old girl
brutalised by three men in shorts
before being cut to pieces and then burned
to erase the 'evidence'
there shouldn't be a blotch, of course, on the holy
name of the religion you practise

the reign of the dark empire has descended
on what was once india's pride
goebel is back in fashion
it's ethnic cleansing time
the situation is normal your court jesters say
it's sad you don’t know what shame is
forget the remorse it's your crowning glory
the jewel in your crown
the babus with beatific smiles
and oily dispositions
have come up with a solution
let's do a deal with those burned raped and reviled
let them press no charges
and you shall let them return
only to get raped and brutalised again
perversion is addictive

does india have no conscience?
it's a moment of glory
for naipaul's area of darkness
while people bleed
students fear to go to schools
politicians drink
bloody marys in safari suits
and do damage control over press conferences
with foreign scribes in air-conditioned rooms
did you see the lady in coiffured chiffon
and cultivated oxbridge accent
meanwhile diseases stalk relief camps
children scramble for moth-ridden bread
who cares it's the indian way

it's brisk business for the butcher of gujarat
now scavengers are busy counting
votes in shrouds
god have a heart.

(19 April 2002)