In the Pit of Our Stomach

If our stomachs were as full as yours
we too would have done something
significant for the world to take notice,
or maybe we would have written
such a love song
that even those who weren’t in love
would have sung it with passion.

But our hands and heart
were forever buried
in the pit of our stomach.

One, Two, and Three

We have no Ram, no Rahim,
no savior.
We were dumped from the skies
caught by the earth.
We have no protector.

We have just three things—
one is this stomach,
then these two hands,
and third is our hunger, burning, burning.
We are always busy, stressed out
trying to control the fire raging in our pit.
No Ram or Rahim comes to give us
bread when we are hungry.

Of what use is a temple or a mosque to us?
We don’t want a temple.
We don’t want a mosque.

The Fire of Hunger

Hunger is no forest fire
that the village would see from afar
Hunger is the molten rock that bubbles inside.
Only those who hold such fire know of it.