Tuesday, March 27, 2007

My 31st encounter with the peacock

Strange as it may seem
The peacock acquired a preference for music
He heard the opera of Parsifal
A thousand times on my iPod
Then he said, now I understand why your species invented religon
It's a hymn for life

The peacock had a severe headache
I offered him two tablets of disprin
He said: In all other qualities you're inferior to me
Just for this, I am willing to be your disciple

We attended a funeral
A gent, I admired
A wise man of learning
His state of health collapsed, extremely slowly
His eyes so weak that he was threatened with blindness
He had a violent attack of mental disorder, from which he never recovered

They burnt the gent on a pyre
Made of books
That the babbling old women of the village suspected
Was the slough of his inefficiency

After the mourners exited
The peacock picking up a half-burnt copy said
This thing is as complicated a machine as life
A slow suicide of sorts

Throwing it in the stream
He condemned the book
May the dishonest words drown
May they be forgotten forever

When he turned his back
The book re-surfaced
Its words, being thoroughly rinsed

In the fresh water

The peacock walked upto me
He whispered that my ear is a mountain cave
Since then I've an eagle living in one ear
A baobab tree that grows in the other

The difference between the peacock and me
According to the peacock
In his own words
At his poetic best

You prefer monotony to chaos
You prefer a silent star to a dancing star
You prefer a clear sky and an azure mountain shimmering in the heat of noon
You prefer riddles

I prefer breathing
Air so ethereally pure
No infection, no bacteria, no noise, no stench, no dust
Just a path where I can inhale and exhale

Where can I learn to lie, asked the peacock to me?
Teach me

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