We want to whitewash inner walls
Our flesh hardly warranting color.
All we needed was broom in lime.
When we apply there are tiny fish
On walls and there is a whiteness.
Lime arises out of sizzle by stone
When water enters stone innards
Since they were once fish in sea.
Flesh is colorless on white bones
Pure and white like a fish’s fossil.
We are short of calcium of bones.
It gives them pearlwhite plasticity.
Bones may break from monotony
Short of the all whitening calcium.
Whitewashed flesh on no bones
Can hardly walk a cat on the roof.
God created a mind with body
To touch the inwardness of us.
Our doubts fluttered like a bird
Just out of the nest& breathing
A Whitman’s song upon our lip
In borrowed language of mind.
Yet we stick to ancient dogmas
That had us scaling Shiva’s hill
A snow hill of an endless night
While a poison of doubt spread
In the bluest of throat, keeping
A world awake by kitschy song
And the sounds of a faint light
Over houses of burning thatch
As bodies stayed all of a piece
And it was Shiva’s night awake.
On the upper story is telltale remainder
Of a fine smile of yesteryears , a direct
Message from Christ, a new shiny star
In plastic paper in light, gently swaying
To December wind’s Christmas carols
A fine celebration over X’mas cupcake
By rubber man now south with daughter
Grown and graceful, pretty Maria angel
A lily fragrant from monsoon’s breaking.
Our heads are derelict , carrying ruined
Walls from yesteryear flaked off by rain
Accumulated rain of bitter experiences
But the remnants still sport life-giving
Green plant shooting in derelict space.
Far too much into our reality,
We copy it after it slips away
While running on our spokes
Of motor cycle in eight form
In a centrifugal pull to reality.
Sheer your machine to eight
Or as a compass will appear
And the north is everywhere
Slipping away to a south lea,
Froth at stern, hills drowned,
A white bird ducking the real
Copy is not reality but vision
In white hollow of a cranium
An attempt to capture reality
With only the shell remaining
We hold on to as dying men.
It is in the belly that it had happened
Where cells grew without permission
In a splurge of body, behind the back.
An inside has to go of bag of beings.
Twenty times blue rays have to touch
As if it is a morning’s sun on the patio.
Somehow this abrupt first line
I have pulled out of a hospital,
A white one in a body incident,
Its nurse’s frightful conclusion
Leading to the tearful farewell
To a shadow of physical world
As it threatened to be shadow.
A first line need not be a body
Nor world’s shadows to speak.
The body creates own shadow
Its launchpad for future poem.
A shadow is substantive poem .
Bodies go but shadow remains.
A first line is a shadow of a last.
Merely ,a special character
To access money meaning
Part of my God,who incites
Poetry from the rocky hills.
A rice giver ,it raises prices
Like it gives well paid jobs.
This mean thing raises fear
Approaching average lives
What makes an expectancy.
Chances are train will pass
Drowning the percentages,
Means fifty -fifty possibility
Poem of prose ,black verse
An after -blank expectancy.
We beat our common stones
We jointly and severally own.
Our laundry’s washing spirits
Are at all time perked up like
Goosebumps on a temporary
Excitement, recent feel-good.
A rhythm of beat is the thing.
Detergents are free & mixed.
They smell of a fresh lemon
Taken off their trees to hang
On a sun’s drying clothesline.
We have left all the currency
To remain in the shirt pocket.
That is for their nice laundry.
We keep caring our hang-ups
We always exhibit on sleeves.
We will give them a nice beat
Once they are off dirty selves.
We look into your eyes bored
Where we often see ourselves
Entirely emptied of meanings.
We flutter our eyes in activity
Barely, asking for a meaning .
Our eyes flutter as butterflies.
Your words trigger daydreams
As in an afternoon street walk
Till they trail off to day’s edge
And we reach dead end in life.
Child of the universe you discovered
Desiderata in early hour but late like
Polonius behind a silk curtain for life.
Child of universe ,you are no more.
Borrowing dulls edge of husbandry
Of your wife with a Gucci handbag.
Child of universe, you are no more,
No less than crooked dog tail wags
Sniffing the walker’s pantlegs down
Searching for its desiderata in love.
(Following Max Ehrman’s popular poem Desiderata)