There

There, where postcard-like photographs are taken from, there is where I wish to stand. There, where the grass, intoxicatingly green, Perfumes the tranquil’d land.

There, where I can walk barefoot And naked – unashamed; There, where the waterlogged mud Can fuck my christened name! There, where the world won’t judge The lustful moans of my feet; There, where my singularity thrives –Aloof from man-woven creed.

Oh! Take me out of this wooden bench And silence this uselessness! Silence the commands, silence the rules! Silence the exasperating cement-mixing machine Outside the window, too!

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