Phimosis, aged Nineteen

  My loins, my loins are roaring, they rage for lack of whoring and hurry me towards a wench who treads the boards in my bawdy theatre group. She’d grinned at my swift swoop like it was grotty cabaret arranged by François Rabelais, but rubber goes to waste. Still waiting, sweaty, chaste, I chase her expectant cunt but I can’t

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Megalomania

Of course I have The right to write and speak But with it I also exercise My limits; When I fulfil my responsibility I look at myself, with dignity. I understand why Tom was shown the door When he wrote an angry mail to his CEO,  Why Tonmoy was hurt When he was ‘bullied’ in the mart. I found a

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Free England

  There once was a time when we mucked out the swine for we stuck and combined when we could. We sucked on our limes and we struck up our rhymes to the crimes of Fawkes, Turpin and Hood, but now we’re pushed round on a merry-go-round of American merits and lore. Free England! Free England! Come get your free

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The ice-breaker

The color of the skin was a household discourse a cause of concern that spread its agonies beyond the domestic front. Eyes would shy away from darkness, paint a beautiful face with foreign fairness so it merged in the blinded way. Tearful years have passed, bloody roads buried by design, under the red carpet, until freshness bloomed bright and held

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Boss

I have no boss, I am no one’s boss No, I am not even my own boss.  Big burdens buried, binned Baggage alighted in the wind,  A barrier I had to so desperately cross. Business has messed with ‘boss’ Cruelty, punishment, penalty Germs that devoured liberty The ethos that spread chaos All around the globe, without slightest dignity.  In a

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