Monday, April 25, 2011

From Z to A


Inspector Z
The bullet ridden body of Monsieur Poirot
Which was discovered
After a month
At the bottom of a swamp

Inspector Z
Applied Vicks on his nose
To ward off stench
Made a note
In the absence of a superior faculty
And investigative skills
The murderer of the French speaking Belgian detective
Shall never be nabbed

A time shall come when there will be No Entry signs all over the city; and the streets shall have nowhere to go

I wish I had 400 nostrils
And even a bad cold
Could not deter me from smelling bread from the bakery
On the ground floor

I wish I had 400 ears
So that the sea breeze
Could (and would) whoosh through them
From one ear to the next one

I wish I had 400 pairs of hands
To soap the back of the one who loves me
Even though I snore

As I oil her hair
She sighs
Seeking 400 nights of silence

My poverty is bigger than yours
One country said to the other
And started begging at the crack of dawn

The artiste
As he sauntered
Into the breakfast room of a high-priced hotel
Located in a snake sanctuary

He spotted 37 bald men
19 bald women
A few children
Also bald, I hasten to add
Who were gobbling fried eggs

Sunny side up

My mummy
Loves power cuts
Since my daddy
Proposed at 9:32
During one such cut in Nagpur

Mummy says daddy had nothing better to do

On top of the mountain, he stood
He mounted the periscope onto a tripod
But instead of continuing his deep study of the stars
As per the Hirji calendar

He removed his kufi
Off his bald head
Prepared a kettle of sweet tea
Sat down
Stroked his white beard that touched his broken knee
And sipped noisily

The Minister
Sort of knew
That the unruly bunch of rowdy rascals
Who were protesting the unprecedented price hikes
And diesel shortage

Were planning to self immolate
In front of his Swiss villa
The aid of adulterated kerosene
Procured from the black-market

All thanks

To an officially notarised communique

Which the Minister had stamped
For a tiny fee

Up above the sky
So high
I smoked ganja
On the sly

Invited Descartes and Locke
Who in turn invited Kant and Hegel
For cappuccino on a summer afternoon
To confabulate
Once and for all
Whose ideas were the profoundest

That's when God
(Well, for the sake of argument, lets assume he exists)
So God
Asked Kierkegaard
How many tree saplings did you nurture when you were on planet earth?

How many lives did you save?
What kind of good deeds?
And so on

Socrates, who was chairperson
A foul odoured potion
Yet again

The hemlock was confiscated
The meeting was adjourned

On his way out,
Nagarjuna while chewing mawa with Confucius said:
I'm afraid the question could not have been answered

To do so
Would have been to acknowledge
God's existence

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