Some words about the riots in New Delhi and the inhuman stories emanating out of the smoke and fire.

The glorious city

Running through the city
Are open drains
Stinking and full of
sewage and swine
Dark and bubbling
like frothy wine
It moves like lava
halting at times
Swarms of flies
take their flight
From its exuberant surface

This day it’s different
It’s a glorious day
A day of victory
For a warring tribe
Many of the trophies
of hard earned win
They’ve casually tossed
In the open drain
Lifeless bodies
Clog the flow
Bloated bodies
With twisted limbs

Riots have stopped
Mobs have vanished
Winners have abandoned
their hard won trophies
Losers scavenging
Among the ruins
Some meaning for their
Miserable existence
A few women cry
and wail in vain
Rest move on their life
Around the drain
Drained of their life.