Do Not Throw The Stones

Living in a wax palace 
and deliberately- 
firing it. 

The beseeching fault 
of life. It demands pure 
blood. 

Self-consciously I 
pick up the glossy cowries, 
with beautiful patterns 
and play my childhood. 

How come, the style 
remains the same as that 
of a butcher or a saint? 

The humiliating defeat 
in the hands of a dirty character- 
becoming a class. 

The cradle rocks. A new- 
born theme is thrown out.