Meghdoot 31 is Now/Here

Hiding here

In my Statistics Workbook
is my systemic anger
not an emotional outburst
that stems from slander.

It is systemic
For the system is its cause
The system its consequence
No  flaws
in the laws
my jhola, my chappal,
my guesthouse made
of straws.

Waking up at 
dawn can be simple,
easy instead
if your dawn's saffron
and not red.
A different shade of blue this saffron.
For it was last night
This epiphany dawned on me
Amidst all the lovers I had
only 'fear' was fond of me.
And Fear wore this 
ostensibly obnoxious
wardrobe from
SUMMER COLLECTION 2K14
of a ballot box disguised
as an EVM
with Petals and Pellets
weighing like lead
falling off to 
crush my head
and all of my cold-blooded 
rebellion.

Hiding here, 
My books on the Left
of the bookshelf 
cold and red and red and cold
peeping and seething 
and being bold.

Bold enough to hide, 
for existence itself, of
thoughts, of notions
of ideas of hidden, foreign
fancies and
Gross Domestic Whims,
run the risk of 
being run down
by the boots stamped 'F'
and the chappals, marked 'H'.

Shivering, reaching out
a hammered, bleeding clout
a sickled, sickening spout
from which 
my words
which they say can
break/divide/burn
an already 
broken/divided/burnt
nation, this notion 
of a nation
and not a nose-pin, mind you
is 'Fragile! Handle with Care'
thus
protected from the stare of us
The Anti-'Notion-als'.