Our wise ancestors
That hang from trees,
Primitive in their wisdom,
Don’t worry about the crashing
rupee,
Free like the wind, all day they
play,
No deadlines hanging around their
neck,
They eat, they have no figure to
maintain,
No ‘time’ in their world, they miss
no appointment,
Nor worry about old age or death,
We the ones that carry civilization
on our backs,
Hunch forward, break our necks and
cover our bodies in guilt,
Supreme, We need curtains to do our
daily deeds,
Yet, they don’t rape their women on
the street
Not having bitten the fruit of sin,
Wise, they fornicate on the road
Without shame.
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