My Cry, from the Slums of Shanghai…


My little nose leaks,

Often, overflows this dewy honeycomb,

Through holes on my sweater,

I could have caught a cold,

But, I doubt, it’s the stink of the swine that has got me,

On my street, you can always hear them groan,

Running tic-tac hither thither, drilling space through legs and feet,

Celebrating an everlasting flood of foulness,

Odor of claustrophobic days and nights, scent of the black abyss,         

Devils peeping out of fossil walls,

Tiny eyes staring wide,

Growling blunt to prove it beyond their size,

Beside faded lanterns, shunned from light,

Dragon lamps excavated out of dirt swamps, on a permanent strike,

Tattooed enclosures ran till no end, screamed Chinese graffiti,

Showed off their civilization birth spots, betel stains,

Eternally perfumed with stench of Oriental urine, gloating grey in the kiss of piss,

Ill-clad damsels, waiving unfed arms, crying out business, hallowing squeaks,

Leaning out of pane-less windows, grinning naughty,

You’ll find them shrieking pink to red,

Mostly unheard remains their alluring wails,

Let them take you on a dirty ride, they’ll almost beg you,

Scummy entertainment, mirror for the hungry Shanghai,

Daughters with bugs from sex,

Mothers dying famished, spitting disease on bed,

On dogs they feed,

To dogs, they are fed…


If you’re as tiny as me,

If you’re that little,

These are the ones that should never cross your way,

The ones, you should never come across,

These spirit-squeezing streets,

Coughing dirt on your mind,

Their narrowness cramming up your head,

Never allowing you unwind,

Is greener than being their victim,

Better than being caught up in them,

Brunt of their anger, irritation and failure,

Could only be worse,

I live cautiously, you know…

I’m tired challenging mom,

Lending her chases,

Pausing to let her have me,

Slaps shower in public,

For anything else, she hardly has time,

I only wish she stops devouring sorcery,

Surviving on loafs of black magic,

Her candles, her chants,

You couldn’t even knock her latch,

She tags my questions stupid,

Makes me bleed, if I insist,

Before a sobbing session of plaster,

Now I know, none here has the time,

Futile it seemed expecting answers…


Dad and God, are they both allergic to the telephone?

I could never talk to either of them,

Tell them my woes,

Mom’s going mad, she’s spirit crazy,

I am dying muddy, starved,

No worries, there’s something I haven’t tried,

It’s been two days, since I hatched the plan,

I’ll send them colored papers,

Sheets to write back to me,

Would want to know ways to escape this smell,

The route out of this hell,

Out of this Chinese slum, into the glitters of Shanghai,

My string should make it to the smoking sky,

Two of them would need more space to scribble,

So, I’ve brought a big kite,

I need answers this time,

I want the Heavens to write…








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5 thoughts on “My Cry, from the Slums of Shanghai…

  1. Our brilliant & passionate Poet friend….once again, phenomenal!! Especially loved the lines:
    ” These are the ones that should never cross your way,

    The ones, you should never come across,

    These spirit-squeezing streets,

    Coughing dirt on your mind.”

    Absolutely loved this! And we were talking and both thought that you should start entering these in contests my friend. They are too great not to share with the world. Especially helpful if you can win some money as well as getting them published.
    This site is for a great poetry contest with a huge purse as well as publication and a trip to Ireland. We entered this year but unfortunately didn’t win. The contest is over this year, but, you should consider submitting next year. And once again, excellent! We will be sharing this with all of our friends!

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