Loin Clothe Poem by mohanan viswambharan Nair

I had loin clothe,
That was not fit for wearing,
That could not be helped wearing.
Who gave me this? I can't memorize.
Black and dirty one, yet in its end,
There was a mark of a multinational company.
In the burning sun, I kept the hunger at bay,
Winding it tight around my stomach.
How easily does it reduce hunger?
In the corner of a lonely street, in a heap of waste,
As the thick green sink fluid flowing out of it,
I sit groping for pieces of food that remain there,
Thro, the slitting of the cloth, others see my nakedness.
As for 'have not', what does mean clothe?
Who cares about nakedness?
in the special days of the feast, as the leftover of the rich
Forms small heaps elsewhere, craving runs me for it.
The clothes make me fall on the way to twisting my legs.
Past many falls and rises, whenever, I get to there at last.
The truck of the city may sweep away the day's feast.
Leaning against the tree on the wayside, I sit weeping,
Cursing my clothe, the tree of the street cools me by its shade.
I gazed at my clothing, it is thick with dark dirt,
Short for covering my nakedness seemed like a dry field.
In an impulse of washing, to the river of the metro, I strolled.
In the oiled water, plastics with decayed rats and cats float.
I washed and wrinkled the clothe and resumed my walk,
Before the richness as lone one among the crowd.
A stray dog came by my side and turned before me.
Three more dogs came from behind showing their teeth.
What for, do they stay for others? but swooped on my falling.
The passers-by stood shooting my distress in mobile.
The dogs left the scene with a large bit of my clothing.
Soon did I stand up, I saw torn flesh bleeding in drips.
The tad stamped multinational company is absorbing it.
It is true, a thing inside me with no obligation
Keeps lamenting for the lost portion of the clothing.