When the hips are not fixed,
Swing hither and thither as unscrewed,
Hands are slender and very flexible,
Eyes are drowsy, move sideways,
O the neck lost its authority,
Brothers, What posture is it?
Your kind of brothers are growing,
On every soil of the world,
Soils of black, white, brown and colored,
When men were the hunters, they hunted the animals,
When men were the soldiers, they killed their enemies,
When men were the prophets, they preached the women,
When men are the loners, they mutilate their own gender.
veeraiyah subbulakshmi's Other Poems
- A bag of air!
- A bait and I.
- A Bird In the left: the heart..
- A Bit More!
- A book.
- a bottle full of love!
- a bow and an arrow..
- a broken heart always weeps..
- a butterfly girl!
- a butterfly story..
- a castle in the heart..
- a ceremony on the bed!
- A Challenge
- a child from the rain forest!
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.