Dear Sir,

I wish to apply
For mercy – I have committed
So many sins that come under
Crimes permitted, a column
That is not included in your
Many paged form. I
Would also like to apply
For the right to breathe
The air of conference rooms
For the right to unsheathe
Words, driven to the hilt
Into conversations. My application
Includes a petition of
Guilt for arguments built
From scratch. Dear sir,
Or madam, as the case may be,
I’ve never been to your esteemed
Country. If you wish to scan
My irises you will see,
Into my soul, no doubt, and
My fingerprints will vouch
For my political integrity. I
Could provide you further
With a colonoscopy, but I feel
In my guts that you’ll brook no
Ifs, ands, or buts, and so
Dear Sir, please feel free
To take imprints of all accounts,
-Banks, permits, degrees –
I make no confession to virtues
In my possession. Visa granting is
Really all that is wanting.



semesterProtestGovernments are so often
Like blossoming pear trees.
I learnt this when I stood
One silent white summer
And thought of James Wright.
“Perfect, beyond my reach,
How I envy you.” he wrote.
“For if you could only listen,
I would tell you something,
Something human.” It smote
My just cause into dust. Trusting,
The petitioner stands, missing,
Often, the point of her own protest.
The government is not Yeats’s
“Great rooted blossomer”. The jest
Is on the trees, when you learn
That it is the heat, not the shade,
That frees.