We have a tattered tarpaulin over libidos,
Beside running buses of lusts to perform.
We are cocoons of married togetherness
That are spinning lazy silks of nine yard
In long musical yarns of Hindi film dance.
But it is rattling here in wind and storm.
We have to return tarpaulin to the maker.
We are soon naked under sun and moon.
(A 23 year old girl who had been gang-raped in a running bus in Delhi died in a Singapore hospital)