Ugly

It does not end there. Between dreaming and waking, I
Recall a name, perhaps even a face, and a voice that had
Once screamed, “ugly”! How many years ago was that?
Nine? Ten? Recent? I don’t remember. But now, lying at
The brink of sleep, I recall, I recall being called “ugly”!
When did the dream catch up? It’s hard to recollect.
If life rejects, would not death be kind? Maybe not.
Maggots and ants; would they mind feeding on an ugly
Sodium reeking body? When was it, that I last saw them?
Saw them, feasting on the distended carcasses of mute
Toads, whose fat bellies I had ripped apart for the sake of
Insignificant grades. But mother says Hindus burn
Their dead! Oh! Let me save some face mother. Fling
A handful of earth on me when I’m dead. Let the
Scavengers finish it off in a silent darkness, let not
People avert their eyes and reject me, even in death…


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