My master stuffs up his pocket
Strung upon his tattered garb
My sinews are getting leaked
Pierced cut by cut , slowly
Then they stuff my tatters
Oh wow ! It is some delicacy
My eyes remain open to the pain
The knives that slit my gut
Hurt less than the sight of smile
When the master stuffed his pocket
Once assured of the reward
He handed me over to a knife
My reward of life and being born
To die a death of humanity.
The floor is smeared all over
The pious throng is jubilant
They have earned their salvation
Once I have lost blood and saliva.
Delhi
23.54
29.6.23
2070
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