Indiscernible grey walls
envelop a faceless monolith
somewhere in Viman Nagar.
Planes trace the clouds above,
keeping the night from beating
the sky into
black.
Outside,
there are pups with broken hind legs,
feeding on guttural excrete
of the land that found god.
Outside,
there are children in tattered clothes,
and their hair flutters languidly
in the land that found god.
They all worship D-3 Viman Nagar—
yes they do.
And in return
all self-identity,
and all self-
de
termination
is robbed by D-3 Viman Nagar.
I’m lost in the annals
of this cancerous growth.
I’m lost in D-3 Viman Nagar,
somewhere in the land that found god.
