Tag Archives: trapped

Rush

Twenty one million
people wake up every morning
and snort three lines.

Western,  Central and Eastern.

This coke trip called Mumbai.

And the frenzied mob with a
mad glint in their eyes
pour out to the streets
jostling, pushing, honking,
bitching, screaming, snarling,
scheming, plotting, betting,
climbing, loving, hating.

Helpless nervous twitches
In the clutches of
dreams and terrors.

Lonely fuck
hooked to the hamster
wheel of ambition.

Zombie armies of
efficiency who fuck
out of habit and drink
out of rage.

Running at breakneck
speed just to be in
the same place
till the heart
gives out.

Or the mind.

Expensive habit.
But then nothing is cheap.


Jailbreak

Every Sunday afternoon
young men from
the slum next to my
building play
cricket on the road.

I watch them
from my window
sometimes.

A pair of rickety bats.
a crate for stumps,
a dirty tennis ball.
That’s all they have.

But for a couple
of hours they are not
jobless and desperate,
addicts and alcoholics,
penniless and broken.

For a couple of
hours they escape from
the shit hole that
fate and time have
trapped them all in.

Their laughter and
screams disturbs the
siesta of the rich,
making them swear and
grumble.

But the young men don’t give a fuck.

For two hours
they are the lords of
that stretch of asphalt.
Fierce gladiators
joined in battle.
Sweaty and skilled.

And gracious too.
Stopping their jousting
for passers by and passing cars.

The game ends when
it begins to get dark.
And the gladiators melt
away into the darkness.

On Monday morning
the road is back
to being just an ordinary road.
And the warriors wake up
knowing they will never win.

Till the next Sunday.