poems, if you could call them that, are a small gesture, a hand that taps you
on the back gently, sometimes a nudge, sometimes a shove, to remind you there
is more to life than prime time, more to life than knowing the color of some
starlet’s panties, or being led by the nose by the manipulators - big business,
the ruling class, organized religion
to keep you quiet, docile and plaint and fatten you for the kill.
From the introduction.
eclectic collection of dark, bitter and angry poems that are also life
affirming, from a poet who writes with no pretence
straight, simple, with little or no poetic flourishes.
self-confessed procrastinator, M.M. Siraj, moonlights as a copywriter to keep the
home fires burning. When he is not writing, he is perfecting his Qigong moves
or exploring the countryside on his acoustic motorcycle. He has published a
collection of poems and novels which did not do his reputation any good. He
lives in a small town in the state of Kerala, India.