Think about it

I don’t live in the sewers of a large city

Whose catarrh-filled passages

Have no compasses,

The dark alleyways are ambushed

By fiery mangooses and brazen bandicoots

They are not governed by animal penal codes

The cold, unbearable at nights

The heat of warm days

Made agonizing by squalid stench.

Think about it

I wait for every hour to pass

In insufferable yearning to get off

The monotony of unendurability

The monotony of fear

The monotony of fatigue

Thinking about it

My soul gets mangy,

My hands join in prayer,

Thank about it.

~Saranyan BV

Bangalore, India