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