poem · Poetry · Uncategorized

At the Ashram…

Dust has settled on his glasses,

that used to settle down on his nose once.

His pocket watch doesn’t chime like before,

Maybe the battery has passed away.

The Lathi has been given to the gardener,

To support the falling pomegranate tree.

The three tamed monkeys of great fame,

Have understandably gone Pariah,

Listening, watching, saying things

As they like it, even if others don’t.

Yesterday, they peed on the walls of ashram,

Why would anyone care anyway now,

Now, that Gandhi is dead,

Even if they don’t admit it.

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