Mumbai

by Pramod Khilery

My wrath is noble.
My ire is sane.
Don't go on my eyes.
Ignore the gaze that seems profane.

My heart pounds.
My soul is tensed.
But I would be the last one
To see, the rationality fenced.

My hands tweedle.
My lips still mumble some verses
From the poem, a few words of
Which fell prey to those curses

Which had never been said
By anybody to anyone.
Which came to my shore
Carrying in the minds, hate-gun.

04-Jan-2009

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