Monday, October 02, 2006

Unititled

If cities were beasts,
the one I live in
would be a mongrel.
A hungry one.
Ugly and rabid,
scarred and smelly.
Water flows from the tap
like saliva from
the sun-struck mongrel’s
tongue.

It heaves and pants.
It is noise.
But for those who have lived
here a long, long time,
just voices in the city.
The hungry mongrel
devours almost anything –
food and garbage
with machine-like
Hunger.

The cur took away my voice,
As if it were
A discarded piece of bread.


© Jatin Gandhi, April 25, 2006.

4 comments:

Arthur Quiller Couch said...

Dude, just breaking up the sentences doesn't make poetry. Sorry, don't mean to give offence, but you really need to work on the scansion.

my poetry journal said...

No, I didn't take offence. Thank you for the feedback!

jerry said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
jerry said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.