God was Murdered

I've gone through life Committing legalized crimes Mirrors shiver at my sight Sitting here, I'm contrite Writing this poem to set the record right i’ve overlooked cow vigilantes, when they butchered minorities i’ve orchestrated gaslighting, when i made her doubt her own sanity i’ve executed fatshaming, when I trolled fatkid Sonakshi  I've seen women hurt and strike mentally torment men & stood bemused i’ve seen eve teasing & sexist jibes  Instead of intervening, I turned gutless mute for the longest time,  i didn’t rise for mom against dad’s physical abuse I can say I was too young to put up a fight but that’s just a sissy excuse in high school, i fell in love with this girl but i didn’t reveal my heart to her because i was too scared of the outcome what if she didn’t reciprocate my love;  what if she didn’t think I was her one. I've lied & said 'I love you' not to break someone’s heart I'v

Two humans I know, Niks {sister} & Ria {sinister}, aren’t artists. They paint pictures that are beautiful; they’re craftswomen . Michelangelo is an artist. But for someone like me who can’t draw a rectangular touchscreen cellphone without people confusing it for a sanitary pad having a public meltdown, the difference between a Michel angelo masterpiece and a drunk doodle by a 17-year-old Michel is indistinguishable. Most of Kaur’s readers are like me - clueless about what poetry is - looking for instant gratification and validation from someone mildly famous who’ll say anything nice about them in pretty words & sketches without asking them to change anything about them and assuring that everything that’s wrong in their life is someone else’s fault because they’re beautiful - why - because they were born a woman. I first consciously became aware of Ms. Kaur at a park during a book club gathering where I noticed a privileged human clutching a status-symbol phone in o

I woke this morning to read veteran actor Shabana Azmi’s claim “There’s nothing wrong with nepotism.” It’s a leitmotif I have heard a trillion times from the members of the film fraternity, and particularly those whose own children have made a killing from the birth lottery. To put things in perspective, Azmi’s rationale was - [verbatim] “If you’re a doctor, don’t you give that platform to your son? If you’re a painter, a poet or anything, it becomes natural that the atmosphere in which they’re born, that’s what they’re most inclined to get.” Sub-consciously, hardly any Indian will find fault with Azmi’s woefully flawed hypothesis. This unanimous acceptance without a shred of doubt is spectacularly offensive to a pseudo-intellectual & bona-fide fucktard like me. I will begin with the most obvious flaw with Azmi’s tunnel vision , which she has unconsciously developed from living in reverence & privilege for decades. India’s first PM was Nehru. His daughter Indira