Knotted in grieves of younger days,
In youth and to drown sorrow of hopeless days,
Indulging In the drinking den, for long we’d delay!
Hosted by despairs of the devastating turning hours,
Liquor hard we’d sip from cup on cup to kill the idle hours.
Primed by pleasure or cares of urban leisure places,
In the den, and to show skills, nude, you’d dance on table surfaces.
If sad, around the table and in poor mood
You’d despondently confide in your intimate peers of child hood.
If deeply drunk, with sighs or cries and without shame or fear,
You’d drench our consoling shoulders with bitter tears.
Talking honestly among our company good,
In turns and without regret, or feeling like a fool,
Each would mention out his private cares on which he broods.
Retelling our pent –up sorrows a new,
Reviewing or comparing of our old with sharp rue;
Suddenly we’d realize we’ve lived in vain.
To ease our nerves from this knowledge full of pain,
We’d invite gift girls over to our gambling table
To make forget our troubles;
If impressed, the rosy cheeked maidens would gallantly clap.
Till the night advanced with age or the bar shut,
Unrestrained, each and privately with their choice would intimately flirt.
Oh, how soon in the brothels night would part!
Till ran short of finance, we’d dare not loiter the home way alley,
Till madly drunk, we’d not depart from the den in the slum valley.
Overwhelmed by thrill of alcohol and along our home way,
Suddenly, of haphazard staggering we’d plunge in to sewage ways;
Of thrill of the illicit liquor: black out in to a miserable heap.
All night for warmth we’d pile together and fall asleep!
Disgusted by misconduct of one of our snoring friend, in dismay,
To the gang I recall once you had you’re complaint put this way:
‘It’s past four: our cloths are wet with dew
The moon is low and the stars dim and blue.
Friend, your sandals are leaning haphazardly against my brow,
Please, I am not a whore to paw.
Though dreaming, refrain from my thighs, buttocks of brown.
Let’s each, now, alone homeward go,
Ere sun raised from sleep by gods is dawn.’
‘Slums are mute but thugs to toil are up
My hair is wet with sewage; ribs numb and knee cup.
There is an emaciated dog sniffing against my ear,
The brute is inappropriately scattering its urine in my jar mouth, on beard.’
This On other occasion, you had it said to me in tears.
‘If I switch your right shoe with that of left my foot,
Then you are at liberty to fit your left leg in to my torn boot.
If in a rainy night you attempt snatch my coat, hat
In return I’ll pull your collar, or some buttons violently pluck from your shirt.’
This way on another occasion you had told to a nuisance rat.
My friends’ dear, do you still remember our strains and tears,
My teenage hood friends, our untold miseries, cares and despairs,
The fight and dangers we exposed our persons to in the slums and in the by gone years?
Forever I’ll regret our wasted youth drear!