Flowing silk saris
Surround painted faces,
Baubles and bangles
Still hang from the past.

Starving

Crowds bumped apart,
Hands waved in flight,
Life’s a mirage
As street children play.

Starving

Outcasts still live
In shadows of fear,
Wives can be murdered,
A child even tortured.

Starving

Arms half stretched,
Beggars learn for free,
That life takes back
What seems so certain.

Starving

Fakirs set standards
For fools in abstraction,
Black holes exist
In lost corner squares.

Starving

Eyes in wide comas
March monsoon parades,
Religion is strifed
With conflicts that cry.

Starving

They bathe in the Ganges
To cleanse tainted souls,
Yet cows still remain
Life’s most sacred tolls.

Starving

Each day’s a feast
But lost in charades
Why bother to change
Most Indian ways.