I’ve got the basic right to pee
Not on the wall
The basic right to shag
Not the neighbor’s child
I’ve got the basic right
To live, not to kill
The basic right to breathe
No Fresh air, not fair
The right, basic, to not fall sick
To stay healthy, for me
For me, the basic right to see
Things clearly, not hazy
The basic right to be
A human being, see?
The right, the basic right
If I knew what all was right
I know what’s right and not
What’s left and not
So the basic right to write
Is mine, right?
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About the author
Distracted as ever - by life and its vibrant hues, Srini discovered writing recently when a bushy eye-browed Muse with luscious lips tickled his senses with her couplets. Fat man grew up to be a fitness conscious cook, a gardener by grandma's inherited green thumb and an Agnostic who used to believe in myriad rituals and gods and goddesses of the Southern landscapes, landscapes where rice paddies and Gopurams made people believe in the gifts of music, culture, art and nature's miracles. With a face that's expressive enough to throw off a couple of stubborn people off their stools, and an arse that can dance to drum and base, he's constantly trying to bridge his semi-German thoughts with his roots back in the Land of the Peppers. He writes, occasionally.
