last night i boozed
and talked about
a farmer's daily wage.
italked about
a cut at his knee.
-about his blind daughter
who can vividly see
the hunger of her old mother,
last night i boozed
and talked about
you and your people
those people
whose dreams
cannot fly above their dusty hair,
those people
whose smiles cannot
shine with their unbrushed teeth.
i talked
about their hand made cigar
to which the goverrnment cannot impose tax
i also talked
about their home- made wine
which needs no sanction of the government.
the government cannot
tax their labourhood
the government cannot
tax their enjoyment
the government cannot
tax their sorrows,
their poverty has no country,
their frustrations has no empire.
yesterday i got boozed
and said that
they are the emperor of their soil and sweat
i also said that
they love and touch
the immature handwriting of their kids
just like the green crops of their field,
i talked that
how they miss their birthdays
and how unfinished are their festivals.
but then
i was only boozed
and yet
i only talked.
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