We wanted to ride rough-shod

(Why not better shod, again?)

Over all their nonsense. All their

trivial pursuits, their petty rivalry,

Back to the basics—or rather forwards.

Pure thought, and pure sensation,

The totalitarianism of Youth.

No more living for the future.

Now is enough for itself, and for us!

But you have to plan beforehand for a revolution.

And a first-div is required to rule the world.

empowerment.

i give him the once-over.

long legs, broad shoulders,

casually loose shirt, lean,

not-too-full lips, high cheekbones, sharp nose.

look again, appreciatively.

see it register, the split-second almost-smile, the triumph.

when he passes, turn. nice ass too.

say it loud, as invitation.

why not? i have a (bed)room of my own. seeti baja, seeti baja ke bol.

Bring a light when you come, for it's dark on the highway
And trucks roaring along grimly, in the dark, with lit-up jaunty cabins
Will jauntily run us over and be gone.
Mid-morning will find us vanished into tubes and chalk outlines
With the tar just beginning to bubble and absorb the last of us,
Moustaches shaking knowingly at those
Crazy youngsters on bikes, trying to get free,
Or whatever,
Causing heartache to parents and wasting their money,
Though we're not them.

In full rooms, with full lives, we're happy just trying,
But they'd mark us out as anti-socials,
Delinquents, Sallu-aspirants or shameless (-ful?) women
With troubled childhoods, oppressed by the drought of civilization,
The pressures of the information age, the ruthless competition.
Like elephants dead in the electric fences of sanctuary
We were caught getting in or out—
A State infrastructural lapse.
We might've even got bullet-holes, and become
Would-be terrorists, or Maoists; "How a child from such a good family—?"
And so on. I suppose we should've expected it.
Here we were, trying not to take
The path less travelled by; what would make a difference?