Under-romanticised Poetry

I like to kill birds

And see them flutter

Their wings,

While they lie, almost dead, no chirps to utter.


I like to skin rabbits,

After I cut their throat

With a blunt knife

That pierces through their coat.


I like to unstring guitars

And strangle kids with the strings,

Then hide their dead bodies

In exchange for a few drinks.


I like to pour water

On anything that is dry;

Be it a new born baby wiped with a towel

Who squeaks for a cry.


I like to kick

The pebbles on the way,

Aiming them on beggars,

On the streets who lay.


I like to raid villages

And burn the fields of corn,

Along with the cattle

Who are newly born.


I like to put out the fire

When the room is cold,

And watch the people shiver and die –

The young and the old.


I like to push people

Off the moving bus,

And watch them fall – tumbling down,

Letting out carefully chosen words of cuss.


I like to pluck flowers –

A daisy and a rose,

That blooms in the garden

Of lovers so close.


I like to be in love

With a girl who wears

Pink flowers in her dress,

And cares little about tears.









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