the high caste saint
i know as a friend since years,
gulps down imported rum and
chants the names of thousand gods.
he is a twice born clean blood
according to what logic?
pulls at the hems of girls passing
by the Main Entrance of the College.
the Principal’s Son!
but spares he, the low caste girls,
they are not to be admired as beauty he says
just good enough for a night of fuck!
I,tell him, I love her, and he shudders,
chokes on the glass of tea, it spills on his shirt,love her!
A sweeper’s daughter!
thank God, I am not a hindu.
better still not of high caste.
for in my world she is my equal,
touchable, lovable, honorable!
(First published in Kritya Poetry Journal)