(72) The motley.

(72) The motley
It was a huge hall of prayer and mediation
like the Indus-valley status and civilisation,
The ancient and obvious occult and not prone to corrosion,
with a cosmopolitan gathering and equally of cosmopolitan
attitudes and moods,
just as the violinist tunes his fingers and his bow to various nuances,
the motley crowd to many situations and secret stigmas too:
for some to cover these a fake smile,
a loud outcry and a gaudy silk-sari
a bold and beautiful a garguntine step,
occasionally many a form of Satan and sarcastic statements too,
only a few like the select ground nut seeds
amidst the false rotten nuts
in a bottle of savoury and preserved condiments
bothering only to bother themselves
their selves, their seats:

I observe with eagle’s eyes,
I decry the malady of motley,
outside air infested with vociferous cries
of the fear ridden accident victims,
The two wheeler under the tyres of water tanker,
Should I shed my fear for the victim?
Should I share to attribute to fate?
Should I flee the horrendous spot?
Should I feel sorry for the uncouth mass?