Cartoon City

Thought it moved onward at three miles an hour
inside the brain’s cramped cave,
Bewildered upturned in the delirium of dreams,
Or should we say adorned :
A city clasped by six hooked legs
In an economic spider’s web,
Clasped by a doctor’s hand at the ghat.
Feeling the dying pulse in its wrist;
But this is a cartoon city.

Advertisements upon the walls
are burning with smoke and dust.
The pullings of lousy horses,
The tensions of hand worked muscles,
Stamp the town’s fortune onto the streets,
But this is a cartoon city.

Fleas nip the stray dog’s mangy backs,
Reminding them they are in the city,
Beneath a pillar a bull sighs long
Near new suburbs of bricks and cement;
All day he ignores the calendar’s hours,
Freed to chase calves to count their tails;
He chews and reminds you you are in the town.

Nearby, from the benches of park and station,
A stench is flung into the sky,
Swollen by cold drops of rain,
Arising too from discarded leaf-cups
And vendor’s peanut shells.
High over the clouds a shoot of darkness
Flies up to a mountain peak,
High above a bud of white light.

Comes out alone on the skyline:
Christ’s candles arisen in prayer
Before the Buddha’s contemplation
Two soft images of tousled calm,
Two pillars of world peace, artifacts only,
Artifacts only here, lifeless.

Close by a mountain wind blows down,
It licks up the rubbish to a maiden pile
And then it falls still.
Cold drips ooze from the eaves,
In the dawn a woman empties an ashtray
Out of her window, pretending
To the crowds below that it was not her.
Street newspaper sellers have washed their faces,
They cry out aloud in the mist ,
With others proclaiming hot toast and tea,
Without conviction , for another day –

To declare a new year budget with prospects of profit,
When black cowrie – shells tumble into man’s white fate,
And a modest smile drops a cigarette on a sofa.

There a man dares to say ‘ Keep to the right ‘
There a man gives orders ‘ Keep to the left ! ‘

A Dead Body

In stillness there is a lamp
outside it’s dark
the sun and the moon are up
in a place where I can’t see
in my room there is a total darkness, The room is at the corner of the hospital
in front of a folding iron desk
my dead body that died in hunger of honour
lies in a quiet state
above my dead body lying there
after I committed suicide
because of faint reeking
three of four flies have begun to move lately
just in front of the folding iron desk

In this night where the sun of my full hope
has shown in the sky of the second period
covering the hills forests villages roads and ruins
spreading light in a full circle
and my dead body filled with the hunger of honour
is lying prostrate on the ground
the rays are falling on the floor
through a slightly open slit of the window
throwing some glare of light.

Over the uncovered face of my dead body I spit a bit
lest the body gets infected
I am looking at it bending
in the joy of the death of unnecessary elements
in the body
my eternal contentments are busy composing dances
the dead body in a horrible form before me
almost with a sardonic smile looks on wreathing
with half-closed eyes
the time goes on lengthening while waiting
for the time of the dead body in front of me
and me in front of the dead body
all alone in the room.

The evil deeds committed while living
are fallen all over the dead body’s own face
the poisonous ambitions held while living
are getting dropped down in its day
painted all around in its eyes
all efforts are getting cold, turning mute
slowly becoming quiet
I am getting unknown of my own dead body.