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The Untouchable Outcaste

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?

Nobody knows!

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!

Filthy Blood!

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)


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