DEVASTHAN (For Asifa Bano)

When gypsy tribes move
From camp to camp,
What they are looking for is
blessings, shelter and
A rotten piece of bread,
When rotten souls move around,
They look for hungry eyes
and flat stomachs of fathers
With flat eyes, flat destinies.

But one certain day, a week actually,
Some people used a palm of sacred water
to douse a forest fire,
How do I say it, what they did!
A small child for their desires!
A flower plucked and crushed
And turned to paste, a flower yet to
Even gain fragrance.
And first time Ever a flower was taken,
to the temple but not for any god, or god-like
Stone. But for the devil within.

The god within, if there was one,
Covered its eyes with its palms
And walked out of the temple
Helplessly.