Upper eyelid is obstinate
It doesn’t come down
Lower eyelid is stationary
It remains where it is
Unlike the jaw
Where the lower jaw is moving
Upper one always remaining idle and stubborn

I was traveling
A motorcade ahead
The driver busy with his drinks
And keen on the signboards of shops passing by.
My township is a place of sacrifice
Town standing for the head
Ship standing for the place of occurrence

A driver was killed in cold blood
While he was taking children in his cab
He had some politics
He had seen a sickle and a hammer
Harvesting and shaping
Above them was a star
Symbolic of his inclination to rise
He was a killer, say his killers.
Who is not a killer
In the reign of those
Who are inclined to kill?
Who is not a chiller
In the rains of the winter?

I had a woman
She had two lips
And she had two breasts
I sucked the lips
And drank the breasts
Mother is never tired of her children

Still I went on a circus
Of sucking the lips
And drinking the breasts
The clowns stood behind me
An array of unemotional backhoes
Lips are in Geneva
Where the court of international justice prevails
Breasts in Amsterdam
Where the land stands in the seas
On pillars of wisdom
My place is a city
Where unburnt lust predominates
Man standing an ethereal renown
Woman pervading her lips

And the poet is alone
In the corridor of despair
With wide open eyes
And a bosom to receive life
As it is, of now and ever