Lounge Bar Poem by Rajendran Muthiah

Lounge Bar
A rock group was beating the drums
and playing the guitars to a song of an Audio Player.
A dancing pair was raising the level of verve and
shaking the feet were the whites and blacks,
with a glass of wine or beer in one hand
and the other hand hugging the partner.
The young and the old relax and eat cakes and snacks.
They watch footies, horse-race and grandprix in a wide screen.
They take a sip and move with rhythm in close embrace.
The happy sellers of drinks and snacks too rock in glee.
Black and white but stout nude pictures come and go
and sounds of laughter have their echoes
And spill out through the small entrance.

See there in Madras, my country men,
emptying bottles of hot rums and brandhis,
and when the kick rises, break the glasses,
braying fierce cries, pull knives and stab
their fellow drunken men in brawls,
and stroll, stumble and lie on the murky road.
No music is in need to swirl their bodies
and throw away their dresses one by one.
They blare their own vulgar songs
and bask in dark or in moonlight.
That is my Chennai and this is Aussie Melbourne.
They pick pockets of others, waylay the unwary,
to snatch chains and be engaged in petty thefts,
and at times strangle the old for gold,
to fund their visits to bars. But the Aussies
take a peck and get into the library to browse.
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