To The Judges.

ONE

My father’s diabetic appetite desires sweets, like a jailbird.
He jumps for it, in secret, wary of lady warden.
My mother looks away, aware of the misdemeanour.
Men become boys yet again, hurting feminist sentiments, and the rain does sparkle on their rooftop, washing a few dirty birds thus adding on to the forty years of meaningful love-chores.

TWO

My friend, who is deemed fat by a society full of people like me, points his unhappiness to the lack of a lady love, and not his unjust appetite.
He often asks me how to talk with girls, suspecting my made up lady luck.
Whenever he gets drunk and sentimental he announces everyone I am some alpha-male thus boosting my ever hungry ego. I kind of like him.  But he is possessive about things he doesn’t even own, for instance say an unclothed-mannequin on some street shop.
So, I tell him, one day when he gets married, he will be very happy.


THREE

I am morally unfit and unsound, and my words disappoint civilization.
So I convert them into desires which grapple with each other ruining any inherent innocence.
In my dreams, I desire eight different women every night, and I always end up dying like Julius Caesar.

And the judges of the earth keep on judging,
Feeling important perhaps-
In this tiny rock
Warmed by
A tine fire
In a vast universe
Of
Physical nothingness.