Mr.Ganjeri puffs in ganja
From an earthen taker
And the eyes drugged-drugged.
Mr. Bhangeri takes it in the name of
Shivaji’s buti,
Herbal paste
To be abnormal, half-mad
And his brain dulled unto.
Mr.Darpiya, daru piyo,
Take daru, I mean Indian daru,
Low-quality local daru,
Made from rotten rice
Or from mahua buds.
Taking daru, lie you fallen,
Fallen on the roadways,
The sideways,
Into the drains
Or the bushes
But leave not, leave not daru,
Emptying the bottle,
Taking the bottle,
Dancing with it
And the lever functioning it not.
If you ask the wine-seller not to give him,
He will stealthily
And the drinker too will reach his hutment,
Take it
And fall flat on the ground.
Calling the dogs as friends,
Where are you going
Having forgotten me
And the dogs too wagging the tails,
Yawning the mouths saying.