Destination

Interviewing A Busy Ant

Poem
To the right, a bit left, eh, is it fine now, here, I will pose, click now.
[Source – Pixabay]

*

Death, destruction, war and earthquake,

Out of these

The path to earthquake site we take.

We are on the move, us ants,

Closer to the ground, we can,

And we will sense tremors and flee,

For it is natural, O giant ban,

“You mean man”, oh, yes, sorry;

We will help the broken, the crushed,

We will liberate the dead.

*

Look that’s my uncle, aunty and foster paa-paa

Walking in a line, and my sister is at the top-aa (of)

The horizontal pyramid,

Our grit strategy, forward march, pebbles, and pray,

March, pebbles, pray, for all who died.

*

Ants’ reverence pheromone, invisible, strong

Makes a trail that we then track, and tread along

It, until we reach our… “food?”,

No, you want to be on that trail mat?

“Man”, eh, if yes, silly fool,

You must change the track, straighten your hat,

Tap your shoes, turn, leave, then take a right.

Us ants are on the path to the earthquake site,

“But why – last question!”

For it is natural – earthquakes come and go,

Wars don’t, it’s a destination

For some; unfair bullets hide and kill and lo,

No cliques ever enter the battlefield,

Or maybe they do;

A handshake to shield

And seal, a business deal.

*

Look, us ants are moving in speed,

The earth is muddy there, but we’ll lead,

“You’re doing a good deed.”

Good? It is only natural.

*

*


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Let Go

Fly, fly, fly!
Image by Oberholster Venita from Pixabay.

Let go please

This is noise

You are holding to

Getting moulded too

Remember you were hit by

A typhoon, in monsoon, oh my

Oh my, you’re carrying the broken

Dream catcher like a token

Of a promise you made to yourself

Forgotten the recipe? Oh well, just melt

The mind and heart together, then clap twice

Look in the mirror, smile, yours is the choice

Colour the dream catcher in deep green

Of your eyes, in the rainbows you have seen

As a child. Voila, it is ready, a new dream

Catcher that’ll carry your old dreams

To its destination, so… let go.


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What To Do?

Literary Nonsense

The Busy Life (1953) by Jean Dubuffet
[Source – tate.org.uk]

*

The train of thought never stops, does it?

Standing on a vague platform, everything except me undergoes a peculiar kind of metamorphosis now and then. Bewildered, I stand in utter confusion, with a dazed expression and remain amusingly voiceless.

Waving madly for the train to halt or at least lazy down a bit, I am increasingly getting ascertained about the fact that either I am powerless or I am being considered as a crazy cheerleader.

Often, no, more than often, I have successfully boarded the train.

What happens then – settled quietly near the window, with a half-read great novel that I have tried to finish since one year, five months and two weeks, looking old and rich in my hands, I get lost in the dream world looking through the barred window; settled quietly near the window, with a notebook in front and a pen in my hand, I write down miraculous lines, tying down the strength to move the humanity and a saleable story together, staying humble myself throughout the reverie; settled quietly near the window, but loathing everyone around me and worshiping softly to reach my destination soon…

“My destination…” I say and I am kicked out of the train, back on that floating platform which dances every second on some idiotic tune and disturbs my balance.

I fall down, cry, raise questions, get answers, plan things and proudly compliment myself, with a touch of modesty of course.

And then what do I do? I go off to sleep. How much can the mind take? “So long, my friend”, says my mind and dozes off. Shut down! Power off!

Click!

Switch on and I am back on that platform. Trains have started passing me. I yawn, a full day of travelling to a gazillion places ahead.

Busy life, what to do?

*


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