A poem shaming the litterbugs that are making this country the monster dump it is turning out to be. It aims to Guilt trip people into picking up the pieces they have left behind. Written for The Great Indian (Times of India)

It’s not your job is it? to see Cleansweep Modi’s campaign through?
You see right through the dump; for what’s the point without a camera crew?

‘Incredible India’ you post online, your own street a “breathstopping” sight,
You walk past with your nose high, how’s it your problem no one treats sewage right?

‘Global warming’ presentations you’d made as a kid, straight A never been so easy to get,
With an “A” against your name now, haven’t you warmed up to your globe yet?

Three hours too much to ask, ”3R”s only learnt to name,
Weren’t the circular arrows in the diagram teaching you whom to blame?

The walls still holding up after you got them cornered,
The spitting image of your nation must surely leave you honoured.

Why shouldn’t you piss off right there? Ofcourse u-r-innate,
To-let go seems like a good idea no? if u-r-ine trouble mate.

The village folk take a monster dump, you take a dig at their big revelation,
For obviously this is what we want to leave behind to our next generation.

Clean foreign lands you visit, your heart swells with pride,
At least go green with envy seeing the greener grass on the other side.

Doesn’t someone magically take away the food remains? that’s one advertising flaw,
when the water’s all gone down, it’ll be the last straw.

It isn’t in your “nature” to revert to “pick up” lines,
With closed eyes we’ll believe this once you just didn’t see the signs.

All that’s littered could be gold we’re telling you it’s true,
Let’s find its rightful place; the garbage can, can you?