Basic Rights

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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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.
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