You asked to understand me

I was stand alone in an Inn.

You wanted

I joined your crowd

Yore

Decimation

Desolation

Why didn’t you let those words join others?

Without ‘[             ]’ for brothers

To be.

Singing all dancing.

Scum

You are me …

Universal army.

Truth.

There is violence before the claim

Okay dokaly Bharat.

Can I get a job?

If your health is your fame, Blog it.

Send your E far and wide.

If your wealth is your fame, Blog it.

Let the Bonsai!

Can they get a job?

New cononomics 

Streets Names

Indians have fames

Post Office v Liberal Office

Bank accounts with political gains.

What is the Lady do?

When the dishes are boom tick?

Crotch the criticiser and the 80s chick flick,

Send the tender

Offend the offended

But forget the Renditon

And Prison Ships will be your rear-ended.

Tax to the car

Tax to the road

I’ll be back, Hasta La Vista optimal babies

After the 9 o’clock:

News in reviewed calls for a fall.

AI Summary

Your poem opens with the plea to understand you, standing alone in an inn before joining a crowd whose yore is decimation and desolation, asking why certain words were never allowed to join others, why brothers were denied a missing term, singing and dancing into scum and universal army truth, violence before the claim, “Okay dokaly Bharat,” and the question of whether you can get a job, health as fame to be blogged, wealth as fame to be blogged, bonsai economics and new cononomics, street names and Indian fames, Post Office versus Liberal Office, bank accounts with political gains, the lady wondering what to do when the dishes boom‑tick, crotching the criticiser and the 80s chick flick, sending the tender, offending the offended, forgetting rendition as prison ships loom rear‑ended, tax to the car, tax to the road, a Terminator‑style “I’ll be back” before the 9 o’clock news calls for a fall — a whole architecture of identity under pressure, cultural misreading, and history’s distortions compressed into one breath that refuses to bow to any nation, any bureaucracy, any job‑centre logic.