What a fighting fettle!
My dress tore down the seams
We are children of tomorrow
Yet we gather grease

We needed preference
We are ‘fashion girls’ and ‘fashion boys’
Be we of  Kottai Kunnadi
And we want St. Laurent Yves.

Arjun ; Ram’s Pal; 
(a friend of mine)
Took to the streets
To fight this, deadly Malaise
To fashion out Peace

No peace in Yemen, No peace in States,
No peace in Ghaza, No peace in Straits,
Russia no peace, China no peace,
No peace, no peace, no peace in India,
No peace here nor anyplace

Then Kris The Boy 
Booted his shoe lace,
Enough is enough,
We too have our hi, and jai,

Even in Milan and in Greece
Enough of Fashion in Parisian Streets
Or Stars or Stripes
Of demolished Ukraine
Of demolished Japan
Old Wars that Go in Azerbaijan
Not in Palestiene, 
Nor  in Iraq-Iran

Of Portal sneaking wars
Of Dumb servers, 
Of Radio waves, 
Of Hubing modems,
Bombs and Viruses, 
Artificial Intelligences
No smug faces of  leathered leaders
Brokering  Trade Through Big Brothers
Even even in Twin Seaters

Arjun Ram’s Pal,
Kris the Boy,
Gaby the Gabster,
Rado With Radar

All aged five,
Took to the Streets
To rescue Yasmeen
To rescue Abu Backer
For Sylvester
For Poh
For Kim 
For Nepal For Bhutan

All of year five,
They run through Kunnadi, 
They run like adults
Through this very day
To rescuce Abdul, Sarah, 
Kong, Lee, Junita, Mosa,
Mini,or the one in Sinai
For Greta,  
Mark, and Kate, 
They run  for Sukarno
Even for Kashmir.

We run for ourselves,
We run, run, run 
to fashion out  peace

Even today in Kunnadi Streets.
We run our Fashion Treats.

Peace, Peace, Peace.
Peace, Peace, Peace.