Turns me on
I will write a poem.
Delirious moon had
picked me up from under the skin.
The safety pin was broken,
now a crowd will disrobe me.
Everytime when my pain makes you cry
oranges are not meant for the sale.
A collegium will stich up the wound.
Once upon a caste the country will go.
• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.
The template had the fault,
I was buried alive.
Brick by brick they erected the cell
I could see only the reflection
of a moon at night
in my glass of water.
During the day sun peeped through the cracks,