Do Not Throw The Stones

Living in a wax palace
and deliberately-
firing it.

The beseeching fault
of life. It demands pure
blood.

Self-consciously I
pick up the glossy cowries,
with beautiful patterns
and play my childhood.

How come, the style
remains the same as that
of a butcher or a saint?

The humiliating defeat
in the hands of a dirty character-
becoming a class.

The cradle rocks. A new-
born theme is thrown out.