Wednesday, 19 December 2007


Undress Gods and engage in puerile poetics.
Dream of exotic turtles in make-believe lands.
You could eat a chocolate bunny
Or some Awadhi biryani
And hope, hope that someone understands.

Rage, rage at the passing of the night.
It might be the very last night.
For such superbly cheap wine
It might be the very last night.
That you could you ever look so fine.
Or it might be the very last night.

Kiss, kiss before the tongue runs dry.
Or have you run out of people to kiss.
Not that exotic turtle surely
Though it’s very hard to miss.
And you could always say it’s the wine, superbly cheap.

And then if gods are cheap tarts
Not even prophets with prophecies
And peddle their dreams from ice cream carts.
Being either turtles or orange souffl├ęs-
With bluish-green snot in nose.

It is the very last night.
Goonight, sweet ladies. Goonight.