It is said that warmth is sought during winter.
The train is moving in its peak, where all the vision gets blurred.
The big faces were painted pink and lips of black.
Sitting at the corner, the head was brushed out and hanged.
It was Dhrishti bommai.
The school of people masked in frightened faces.
Where is the old lady going, holding her basket full of fish ?
And the birds catching them, the fisher man.
And they became frogs, swimming there in peace.
Yes, it is the violin they holds,
And the streets are filled with the dancers.
The gang of band, congested on to a green car,
And a guy mouthed the trumpet.
The wife is reading.
The husband is pedalling.
The bicycle that was called.
And those migrants from the country,
They paint their walls with imaginary pianos.
For a white wall, it needs charcoal.
And for a dark wall, where will they get the chalk ?
Those bombed scenarios are horrible.
He played the broken piano.
The old man sat on his bed, and the dust left as it was.
For a starver, anything is fine.
And even if it is a war, hunger won’t take a strike.
The mother peeled the potatoes,
And the father bathed their child among the shillings.
Walls are decorated with the bullet paths,
Those gunners once had a butterfly wings,
Now the pigs were a burden to the people.
And he shot a fish head with his gun,
That the old lady, holding a cat, hated those men.
I will bleed for better reasons this year.