On Top of a Hill

I’m standing on top of a hill
which is bare like a naked woman
whose breasts have been uncovered
by a ravishing madman.

The western horizon
has turned crimson,
and the gently setting sun
is red, almost like our blood.

The darkening sky ponders
over my existence, in a
world of tattered dreams
where fools sit on kingly chairs
and rule over reluctant subjects.

The wind ruffles my hair
and clouds ruffle the stars
when walking down the hill
now lit by pale moonlight,
I tread humble grass and moss,
reminiscing the dense thicket
that once was, before man
murdered the trees.

Below me, the valley of neon
shimmers like a crowd of fireflies.
But the city is dead, and only
men in khaki stalk its streets.
The law’s noose has strangled
the city’s throat. And it is
another night of workless hours
for the prostitutes and the pimps.
Wrote this poem way back in 1993. It was my second poem that got published, first in a poetry journal then got shortlisted for a national poetry competition organized by Poetry Society (India) and sponsored by the British Council.

Image courtesy: http://www.freeimages.com/photo/1439588


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