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MY DYING CONSCIENCE (by Rashmi Trivedi)   Sometimes in the dark of the night I visit my conscience To see if it is still breathing For its dying a slow death Every day. When I pay for a meal in a fancy place An amount which is perhaps the monthly income Of the guard who holds the door open And quickly I shrug away that thought It dies a little. When I buy vegetables from the vendor And his son “chhotu” smilingly weighs the potatoes Chhotu, a small child, who should be studying at school I look the other way It dies a little. When I am decked up in a designer dress A dress that cost a bomb And I see a woman at the crossing In tatters,trying unsuccessfully to save her dignity And I immediately roll up my window It dies a little. When at Christmas I buy ...