Saturday, January 19, 2013

Let's Go Bowl

Bedelmonnik / Mendicant

A bowl is not born a bowl as you’d imagined rounded and circular in shape with a hollow belly of emptiness containing space acting as a receptacle of charitable giving

A bowl does not howl at yer nascent generosity of latent kindness and stagnant compassion for homeless compadres or material comparisons and see-saw fortunes swung in the wilderness of urbanite jungles

The bowl now remembers the pitchforks it used to be carved out and engraved so by its makers and breakers of temporal eras

The bowl remembers and recalls how it was once a free tree that grew of the earth wherein nestled birds and bees soiled by a woodcutter’s ax who sheltered in its shade from the sweltering degree of the midday candles melting in the flaming rays wherein the woodcutter enjoyed a nap in the lap of the tree’s shadow of cool shades of grove before the hacking blade cut forth your benign wooden friends of the forest

Nor doth it growl
The maimed heart does indeed prowl
Seeking medicine
For balms and calms
To benumb the harm
Play deaf
Mute all alarm
Pretentiously
Calls for longing arms
Guns or sweetened buns
The platter's contents matters none
What's done couldn't be undone
Like the morning that's gone
Or the 'noon
As does this 'eve
Now a movin' night
When morn comes alight
There be no blithe
Of the night's horrors
And its frights
For I'll be gone with a bowl
Or sippin' tea watching the saffron fold
In silhouettes of shinin' gold

Reminiscing the days of old
And weathered-outbursts of:


                                                                                Sudden quiet 
Snow Cat

White silence
Snow falls over the mid-January valley

White horizons
Contently quiet
Now that the snowflakes have come

The Thimphu Winter howls less today
Than it did till yesterday
Now that the snow has come


Tensions in the mansions
Are as relative
As the ruts in the huts

Hunting epitaphs
And grand legacies
Premature fallacies
Related to gravestone inscriptions
Where many lie resting
As opposed to life
And those still living in strife
Erecting signposts
Leading you to the final rest-house
Awakening a silent rage
Pondering a papyrus page
Realizing a sudden rage
Where original face summons
Cosmetic make-up melts
Freedom calls
From mundane tenacity
Routine revolvers
As if we were kiddin' ourselves
From weathered smiles
Over endless backward miles
Like anyone's counting
Howling restless rebirths
And reckless reincarnations
Transfixed
Agape
Lost for words
The storyteller simply said-
Once upon a time
In a kingdom high on the Himalayas
A king was born
Much like Siddhartha was...

PS: Dear Doc
Thanks for the fear
The ticket
The loathing
Haunting hallucinations
Gun-shot typewriters
And showing those snobs yer dazzling middle-fingers
Weighing scales, Thimphu





Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!
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