Strands of Belief
We pluck fluffy balls of cotton from so many different plants, Having no idea, which would end up in towels, mops, and pants, But every tuft itself, shorn of identity, has no consequence to dread, Caring even less, that many
Call Me Butcher
When outstretched hands reach out for your support, And you routinely ignore them like another status report, If your arms cannot reach to those hanging by strands, Maybe you should consider chop chop chopping your hands. When tired legs try
Heteroculture
When someone preaches culture, as scientifically as horticulture, Just stand up and let them know, enough of this farcical show, That you already have yours, and the rest of them, have theirs, Music comes about, as much from common sound,
Barfi
When you refuse to see, the suffering staring right at you, And don’t even blink, thinking it doesn’t really concern you, When you fail to appreciate, any image your eyes just took, You are no different, and no better, than
Enablement
Quite often, we come across someone, we think of, as disabled, And quickly correct our thought, they are differently abled, If we only took the time to understand, what makes us perfect, We would know, anything perfect, is merely an