Bombay
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One more rape. And yet more outrage. Newsreaders screaming louder and louder. Social media reeking of anger. Newspapers filling up space. Houses of Parliament spewing rhetoric. The noise, the din, the unbearable torture of a nation that is clueless, helpless and directionless. Yet again. The carnage continues. A nation is caught reeling under one more
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She sleeps. Yet she is. Without rest. She gazes. Into the dark ceiling. The seamless cover. Of black.Lit by a thousand twinkles. Interrupted by. A hazy foreground. A gray lining. Partly covering. Silver stars. Her mind wanders. She lingers. Over the past. Worries. About now. She thinks. About tomorrow. She wonders. About how. It will
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Red. Blue. Green. Cyan. Magenta. Yellow. Blink. Blink. The night. Lives on. As she does. Sparkling above. Vulgar below. Colors of torment. Of unrest. Fill her firmament. They merge. Into the night. One more night. Sleepless. Restless. Endless. Seamless. She ends. While I do not. She stops. I do not. I am enveloped. In my
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Disgusting. The world I live in. Despicable. The people I know. Abominable. Me. Because I inhabit this world. Because I waste time with these people. Spewing shit from the mouth. Carrying venom in the mind. Shit. Filth. Dirt. All around. Maybe I should stick to whisky. Maybe I should go back to my dirty room.
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Honking. Left. Right. Centre. Top. Bottom. Inside. Outside. Honk. Honk. Honk. Honk. The sound. Of a restless city. Its agitated soul. Raped. Molested. Abused. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The voice. Of the cities soul. Honk. Honk. The moan. After the fuck.
Hansal mehta 