Babel

The path is ever short

The struggles magnificent

 

May be I am the only one listening

 

The Falsifiables

“Nothing is stationary”
-The wise

“The wise can’t be wrong”
– The unwise

Only an observer, I am going with my boss

“&:/ +* @%\! -~{} *”$() ^%#!”

Pellucid

Not that it matters
The shutters were down, the house was dark
A cloudy noon was prowling beyond
Switching the table lambs on
I place my spectacles where they should be
(In their case)
That at least should make
A case for clarity

There is the din of life seeping in.

Actuality

( Some amusing reflections on time and space)

1
Circle

Circle formed by dots. Start
From any dot, it has to
Give us the same count

2

Line

Line with chronic dots
Starting from some silly dot
The count needs vary!

MYSTERIUM TREMENDUM

(Two humorous meditations on the self)

1

BEING

If I am the whole
World, why do I fight with I
Every single time?

2

AND

If I am this guy-
Alone, what do I care for
The views of others?

On the aesthetics of disappearance

 

Just the other day, as I was ‘a thinking’
The God knocked at the door, and
Soon as I could open it
Began barking “what the hell took
You so long to come to the damn door”

I murmured, “I was a thinking and
As you know, it’s difficult to get
Out of a think that easily.”

God says hmm, and pshaw

I feel defensive: I never liked Bernard Shaw

“It takes some damn heavy going
Even to think in the first place”

I complain:

The guy could barely prevent
Himself from cracking up and dying of it

“Oh, God, oh God, “He gasps
“You think, really? That’s gross
That’s unbelievable
That’s notacceptable

Only the infinitesimally good does it in general
(Why else is there global warming?)

Nobody else ever, and I mean EVER thinks,
It has been banned by the censorial (sensorial?)
Council for the something challenged”

I grumble, still defensive:

Give us some names of the infin….. Whatever good
You kindly just mentioned

God breaks out in a thunderous voice:

“Socrates, Diogenes, Heraclitus, Zeno
Spinoza, Hartman, Schopenhauer ‘mano ya na mano’*”

I bow in awe. The god knows Hindi! Man!
I have goose pimples running the stretch of my spine

He sings on

The rest emanate from the hoary east, Kanada, LaoTsu
Kapila, Confucius, and some who talk in the ancient Hindu

I stand astounded:

Et tu god, you too rhyme?
Don’t you know it’s a definite crime?

God, seized by some terrible and helpless spasm,
Muses out aloud:

We, alas, inventing the thing in the first place
Have since then been confined to the houter space

Houter?

Feelings man, feelings

What about Nietzsche? I ask

Huh?

Nietzsche, you know, the Zarathustra,
Up in the mountains, down in the plains
Preaching to the populace, carrying the dead
Does he qualify to be within the infin…. Whatever?

Huh?

And as I stand aghast, the god does the
Impossible, he pulls a vanishing act.

——————————————————————

*Believe it or not

“Reflections”

1

00100

Ciphers to the ace
Can be added back or front; one
Prefers the later

 

2

The Epicure

A little frog is seen
Jumping high, flailing its legs
Nice meaty limbs too

3

Persistence

The tree, falling on
A car, takes a child’s life
Sprouts still break out

4

Angry

A poet pissed is
Truly-thorough, for, no one
Advises better

5

Visitors

Installing calibre
In the system I stay put
Visitor’s announced

Hemipterans

Startled awake in the dead of night, I sit up dazed on that rickety bed. The room was dark; my roommate a silhouette on the far cot, there was rain and the weight of the night in the air. And as I turn the lights on I see something I would ever remember in life. My friend, who boasted of the palest of skins, had turned black; there wasn’t spot on his face that wasn’t dark.

He was deep in dreams, and so I didn’t trouble him, but carried my bed outside to be discarded.

In the morning, back to his usual pale skin, he shakes me awake from my slumber on a crumpled spread of news papers on the floor.

Why? he asks

Why what?

The bed. Outside. You. On the floor.

I shudder.

Well, sheik, it wasn’t exactly like this. Yet there was the night and there was the rain……..

Terrible calamities of nature.

And you, with your face the color of pitch.

He bristles.

I am not black, damn it. I am white, but you, you envious dog, are definitely dark. And I won’t take that back.

I wasn’t talking about the color of your pretty skin, you egotistical idiot . Can’t you imagine an event where your hot skin might turn black?

He spent some time in intense rumination.

The dark could do that to me.

Hmm

And my dear sis . She could paint my phiz black.

Ah, the sweetness of a sister’s love.

Love never fails son, love never fails, but why was my face (He lets out an involuntary shudder) black?

Why would you think?

Couldn’t be….. that’s impossible…. bugs?

He shivers.

Would they dare touch you?

Exactly

We both spent the rest of our nights in that lodge on the bare floor and on a bed of newspapers. Those were the only lodgings we could afford on our students stipend.

We are at least making good use of words. He says sometimes

Well, make use of this one then, I would prompt:

Darkness At Mid Night

I am covered on that one pal I didn’t discover them, you did. That’s why we are on a bed of words.

The best bed ever.

Why do they hate the lovely words?

The bugs?

Who else

No idea, may be they are students of Andre Gide or Ivan Illich ?

And who ever those might be?

Distant cousins of Abelard, Peter, I think

Don’t get smart with me, now

Would that add to my smartness?

And so we would drift off to sleep.