My Business is of a Delicate Nature

Suppose a line ends the world, what would you say?

I’m on self-exile, sent to mamma

With a new bunch of manna

The communism of silk of verse

 

Scribbling like therapy, free association

Thrust upon me like low-brow

Ruffling my dirty hair

 

I feel no love without it

I should be in the middle of monsoon

Here I recline in my idleness

 

Like a flower of the lost fields

I am the thought after a long day’s work

I want the committee of cruel women

 

To tell me where I went wrong?

But they barely speak, no rewards

For my love wage, my specialist’s rate

 

What shall I charge next time?

When they all don’t believe in what I offer

Without a price, altruism is not my

 

Topmost level, it’s my republic baseline

My prewar norm of untamed love

 

The pig-iron of all I know how to wield

Collecting taxes from broken citizens.

 

Author's Note

Poetry, is my depleted cashbox

Reviews

[Circe]

oh nice... economics and art! really enjoyed this.... the little bits of truths and self admissions.. and perhaps disparaging against the dynamics of male/female relationship in its typicality? relationships and economics and society..... really intricate blend.... well done!

[Prolific In Verse]

You seem to write good reviews, I am grateful.