A mosquito drinks my blood, because that’s all it knows to do
A bee stings my nose, for that’s the nature of its flight
A puppy nips at my palm, unaware that shut jaws can cause pain
A pigeon shits on my head, it was never taught not to
A cat scratches my arm, it never knew its nails were that long
A horse treads on my foot, his ears aren’t rearview mirrors
A bed bug bugs my back, but after all, it is a bug
What’s your excuse?
Porcupine: I have a quill complex
Ant: Me too
Porcupine: But you don’t have any quills
Porcupine: My mind is so confused
Ant: Wrap your thoughts around a quill
Porcupine: And then?
Ant: Learn knitting
Porcupine: What is the point of life?
Ant: There you wasted two seconds
Porcupine: Of what
Porcupine: Do you think if we ask the right questions, we’ll get the right answers?
Ant: The ladybug ate a dot
Porcupine: No, I said, do you think …
Ant: The frog spat out mosquito legs
Porcupine: Oh ….
Porcupine: I have an inner fury that’s going to explode
Ant: Poke yourself
Porcupine: And will my fury drain out?
Ant: No, it will give me a good laugh
You can watch it from afar
And wonder how it got lost
In the chaos of
A confused universe.
You can relook at history
And wonder that
Though it’s about your life
It wasn’t written by you.
You can dig up the memories
And fling them afar
But your heart will always know
And unlike your body,
It never forgets.
You can treat it like a case study
And look in vain to learn a lesson
For it has nothing to teach you
Other than loss.
You can move on
And time will heal the hollow
But there will always be moments
Where a word or a joke
A shirt or a breeze
Will bring back everything
That was and
And then your stomach
Will turn to stone
And your heart
Will tear a little
But not as much
There’s Mr ‘Ope
Who grows in my backyard
A quiet little fellow
No matter how much I tug
And curse and pull and weed
He grows back, all fresh and green.
Every night I wonder how to kill him
Every morning he beams at me
I trample him with my boots
But don’t ask me how
He peeps between my toes.
I chop him into little pieces
But with needle and thread and care
He stitches himself back
And then he hums a tune
On bloody thumbs
Cut unkind by knife.
One day I fed him to the crow
Black beak trapped him shut
He struggled hard, I admit
“Good riddance”, I cried
As flapping wings
Became moving dots.
Suddenly the crow turned back
Flying with rage it stormed over me
And dropped him at my feet
“Your hope tastes yuck”, it spat
And away it flew, forever I think.
Mr. ‘Ope looked at me
Eager and shy-smiled
A bit wet from crow goo
“Oh well”, I said
And picked him up
“Swell”, he said
Into my chest.
A poem that was born before the word blog.
When virgin sky meets rising moon
The Dog begins its life
The loin cloth tears
By a woof
And thus evolve man to Dog
Paw by paw. Pause.
Mating the moment in carnal capability
Each wet nose – an unused condom
The world holds tight
Its chastity belt
And the Dog sings,
“He’s a jolly good fellow”.
Hair, flea, saliva
Long lingering after wags
If not now, now
Everything ceases at the tongue.
Conspicuous coupling and paranoidal howling
The alternative to life is Dog.
All of them don’t have to be glass
Some can be tough, like metal
Forever shiny, like gold
Supremely lucky, the godman’s gift
Elastic black with a social message
But somehow I have always fancied
The glass ones
Rainbows on my wrist
Clinking on my hand
Making music with my steps
Breaking every day.