Monday, June 11, 2012

Uday Prakash does not let me sleep

These days
Uday Prakash does not let me sleep
With his zeal for unhappiness

If he was born
During the regime of The First Emperor, Qin Shi Huang
His head would be nicely chopped off like the 460 scholars
His words burnt, crisply
With quail feathers

When the window in the sky opened
God sat there
Staring at a soaring crane behind a cloud
Offering toast and butter

I stood outside the building
I waited
I stared at a mendicant
Sans piece of cloth, or mind
He stirred

Stared at me
We did that for centuries
Our thoughts supporting the sky
Till a bell boomed
He ran to the church gate
With incredible speed
To resume begging

Under my hat, I smiled

At the railway station
I polished my sandals
Next to a make-shift temple

When the train arrived,
I entered it

Along with a bit of darkness

If I was a giant centipede
With dexterity in my fingers
I could have played the Hungarian Rhapsody
As well as Listz

I have butterflies in my stomach
All rare species
Two Odontoptilum Angulatas
And a Thaduka Multicaudata for company

Grammar, she is dead
The barbarians
Burned her effigy
Full stop

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