The verdure that palisaded my arbour
In my puerile childhood
Is now parched
Isn’t it an apposite reflection
Of my cognition?
I am desiccated in the desert
Of your inclement people
Who deracinated me from my right for equality
And decimated my
Serenity
With snides and stings
That whiplashed me but could not
Break my neck
The air damp with your venom
Could make me choke
But not asphyxiate
Your autocracy
And your subhuman interest in
Caste discrimination
Are dehydrating my veins
And exsiccating my alleged South-Indian blood with furore