Saturday, November 15, 2008

Tin Drum


Today
When I born
Three Magi
Came to see me.
One brought
A speech
Another one,
A painting
The Third one,
A poem.
I am waiting
For those
Guests
Who would
Gift me with
A cross and
A thorny crown.
How predictable
The world looks
Even from this
Cradle.
The forty watt bulb
Still baptizes me
With its
Yellow light.
My mother’s
Nipples still
Have those
Swastika signs on them.
That’s why
I, like all the times,
Refuse to grow.
Don’t tease me
I can break your
Ear drum with my
Scream.

2 comments:

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Dilip Narayanan said...

"This is the time for the people who want to save me, whom it amuses to love me, who try to esteem and respect themselves, to get to know themselves, through me. How blind, how nervous and ill-bred they are! They scratch the white enamel of my bedstead with their fingernail scissors, they scribble obscene little men on it with their ballpoint pens and blue pencils."

The Tin Drum, Gunter Grass