Something stirred him as he stared,
something quiet, something scared
turned his head but failed to look
or did he?
From office cramped to office dusty
Aboard the sturdy not quite rusty
Jeep
He smoked, and stared into the sky
Barely nothing caught his eye
But barely nothing's something still
Dead rags and dust
A hint of elbow, a hint of shirt
A hint of brown skinned, shambling dirt
and no fingers
A hint of hatred, hint of pain
Hints of anguish, hints of shame
Hints of bruises, cuts and sores
Hint of sweat from tired pores
Blood and sweat and hatred hinted
He never saw, he merely squinted
At mounted lingerie
To fail to see is quite a task
How do you do it? One might ask
Think of British Comedy
Existentialism
Bertolt Brecht
Conquistadors
Large Breasted women
computer games
post-modernism
Beer
Anarchy
Anime
Deadlines
Maya
Comics
Salman Rushdie
Wait.
The mind it is the queerest thing
A bell once pulled forever rings
And strange detectives dig the earth
Uncovering skeletons spouting dirt
From the subconscious
From a book where once he had escaped
To hide from taunting kids who taped
the memories of childhood tears
and taunts and insults, calls and jeers
A book where shambling cudgel knees
Crunched at skulls, and of a man who sees
India and Indira in a strange double-vision
A word reached out, to drag him back
To the traffic, where commuters hacked
their lungs out, and the smog-filled sky
played strange games with the sun
And squinting worked upto a point
but city eyes can only blind
He who has learned, with his mind
To dull the screams, the blood, the tears
To separate models with big bustiers
from dead rags and dust
He rolled up the window, and looked away. Stared at his files, reached for a coin, flip flip, drop. These lights are too bloody long man, why the hell do they put those stupid ten minute intervals in who the hell does that choot sardar think he is, oye maderchod, hatao!
Still staring.
He gives up, finally, reaches for a coin... two rupees, no way man, that's one Gold Flake, ah, fifty paisa, just roll down the window and...
No, it doesnt want anything more, but to stare defiantly, spit at the windscreen and shamble on...
You saw me. How dare you! you Bastard! with this spit do I consecrate thine revelation!
ptui.
He stared embarrasedly at the dribble, watched it travel slowly down the window screen.
The honking started.
He cursed, rubbed his eyes, moved into gear and drove on.
Dead rags and dust.
