Yes, World
I have no rhyme, I've lost all wit -
In my life, only bulls do flit.
They are wrathful and awesome large -
On the roads of Delhi, into me they barge.
They bruise, they batter, they chase, they natter,
They moo, sneeringly, as I grow fatter.
An excellent butt I am of their jokes,
A daily relief from burdensome yokes -
So they relieve me not of my misery
And watch the world eviscerate me.
And thus, at this age of twenty-five,
I find myself, alas, still alive.








