Saturday, May 5, 2012

How Does Your Garden Grow ?

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Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.[1]

a fucked future
where the next meal
will come from
we do not know
ha ha
how does your garden grow ?
begging at a signal of life
cars motorbikes in a row
as they speed stop and flow
beautiful as they glow
cursing
our lives
our woe
punished for the
fornicating sins
of our forefathers
our own parents
we hardly know
a seed in a hurry
they sowed
the streets
the pavements
traffic signals
our worldly abode
a poetic episode
our hopes in the gutter
god over generously
bestowed
our lives overload
our innocence
robbed on
every road
by a charming prince
who after devouring
the best of us
turns out
to be a toad
soon a new life
on our waist
conveniently
widowed


Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row.[1]

words a poet echoed
the same words twisted
mauled mangled
another poet borrowed
as street sorrow
from his camera
overflowed

Ramzan Mubarak Aya Ramzan Mubarak Aya

These are the words that you hear on the streets of Bandra at dawn sung by the Awakeners Muslim mendicants who do selfless service wak...