Dirty Island

By Sakshi Bhatia

Let the games begin.

Let the past stay in yesterday.

In yesterdayʼs sadness

Todayʼs gladness can feel little

Because tomorrow is brittle

Like old bones tired,

Like old phones,

with squiggly wires,

That were land lines on

Interconnected roads,

On which fluorescent

Frogs, who identified as

Good looking rogues, played politics;

courting naughty curious cats,

There were gun shots,

And cameras flashing,

Balls cheering bats,

Rats nibbling cheese

Enjoying the tropic breeze.

2

The lights freeze,

Life ceases to move

Like a Deja vous at the Louvre,

People Staring at the Mona Lisa,

Eating a crepe, A pizza

drunk on red wine,

an unrelated memory of goodness

Interrupts the dodgy present,

And creates tremors

in the future,

where the past was hiding to

Heal and conceal

A sacred suture

Flowing with water

In a proud daughter,

from a proud nation

That has abandoned

Rationale

To become patriotic; Anti national.

3

It was never fashionable

To stand alone

and pick bones from the ground

where precious stones

loitered in freedom

not yet co-opted by greed

or sent away on a lead

to hang from the neck

of a kitsch bitch

whose friend would snitch

about the rich

and also hate on the poor

in a country getting higher and lower

faster and slower

poorer and richer

the new sewage drains were constructed

only to ditch her

after the killing and murder

and to continue vacationing further

in the nation

of rations, stations and vacations

for others, alien brothers

visiting a foreign land,

for a cheap helping hand

to play dangerous games

always illegal.

4

In the backdrop,

Seagulls bring messages

from virgin contenders,

to favor the lenders

and spenders of fuck-you money.

In a sunny paradise where everyone dies

and is resurrected,

all mistakes are corrected

all murders are wiped out

from the record.

The past is checkered

and the future is uncertain

of the princes

who stole their dignity from urchins.

5

The mind is a room

divided by a curtain,

of memories black, white & colored;

memories of that one night,

when summer was peaking.

they got what they were seeking

reeking of alcohol and blood

unbothered by morals

unbothered about destroying the corals

unbothered by the flood that was coming

to be the unbecoming the undoing

of innocent love

that had been brewing

in the hearts of the unsuspecting.

6

A sea of vultures

Will judge this vacation

with the lens of different cultures

only to conclude

that aggravated assault

is indeed a crude way of conducting

criminality.

A good murder cannot be traced

To the source of all this light

There fore

A fight is must

in the court of law

For an appropriate settlement

That will certainly be unjust

Inalienable on any planet on any island

Barring Lanka and Thailand

Where sexual deviance is the norm

In any light and any form.

Pedophiles who ruled the roost

donʼt need another boost in their sales

as they operate out of jails

and their murder suicides are planned.

The island is manned and surveilled

In case someone failed

At hiding the identities

Of the criminals and the victims

Pitted against each other

In an eco-system

Destroyed

On an island of dirty

Where only the rich have liberty

And the poor can only fight back

As the middle class enjoys

A light snack and tea

And turns off the T.V.

To get back to

Power napping.

As the new satellites are mapping

Another new virgin island

To make dirty and murder her

before she turns 30.

By Sakshi Bhatia