This Is No Poetry Poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri

these thickset days
are fizzling down
quick, especially


in the night air
the eyes bespeak
atrocities, unspeakable

the sound of leaves
whizzing through the thick
morning air, leafing


pages in weighty scriptures
ambivalent answers to
disjointed questions, unasked


celluloid horror
of a twelve-year-old girl
lying spreadeagled, shrieking


you lie spreadeagled in
the Mumbai-Hyderabad overnight
Volvo sleeperette, re-living

what all are the horrors
in the suburban train
three living-dead humans
watching a twelve-year-old
dying of too much love.