Here’s a poem of unrest and protest by Mamta.
with bored, desiccated life
Over his characters
Is he a Czar?
Why should he view their world
As a crowned head?
If they want to seduce or be seduced
They are not sidekicks
Laughing over his expectations
To treat them like clay pigeons
Shooting them at will
They will make their own trajectories
Their own pathways
Their own entanglements
With their high energy fix
They create turbulence
Making him stuffy
The narrator looks around for his stun guns
And the charade goes on….
Pix from Net
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