Tallies

 No, this is no country for folx! That is- 

If you count all those gasping for breath.

While he irons the last the last crease

On this nation that witnesses death after death. 

Shave your beard, and make a decent being of yourself!

Or, is that too much to expect-

As the wretched amongst us drop like flies on a poisoned shelf?

 

Wait, what! Now you want respect? 

For what? Pray, tell me? For our loss and grief?

For watching our loved ones infected with this wretched disease?

Or, to watch you wreck everyone’s lives in utter disbelief?

While we text and tweet our lives away in anonymity,

And wait on middle class comforts such as food, jabs, cluttered streets-

You watch 40 pyres burn together with absolute alacrity.

 

The bourgeoisie lives, survives, and eats-

The shit you feed them. They eat your myths, lies, 

And leap to your defence in the face of facts, numbers and logic.

Can you not hear all those pleas and cries? 

For beds, gasps of air, jabs, … for life? Fucker, this is tragic! 

Get your head out of the damn political gutter, it’s not just about political rallies, 

‘Shave your beard!’ We mourn and mutter as your minions count check if the number tallies.

 

 

 

-       Dolashree Mysoor

Sonnet of the lost

 

So, it’s been years since I put pen to paper, 

Why am I so inspired today?

Is it you? Or, him? Them? Or, her?

Whatever it is, I’m sure the reader has to pay-

The price of reading an amateur’s words,

Long out of touch and slithering away,

Living and re-living reality’s curse, 

Yesterday, the day before, and very much astray. 

“Do you think this is going to be good?”

Asked she, unconfident, underwhelmed – 

By her efforts, errors, for so long under the hood 

Of her follies, her words and thoughts stand maimed. 

But, must she write again? After this long? No, it can’t be!

It can, wait it can, as the words come free. 

 

-       Dolashree K Mysoor