However smart respectable we are,
beneath our shiny show of clothes and skin
we carry stinking shit inside our bowels.
Though there's no problem while contained within
ourselves, eventually weak ageing dreads
loss of control. But even that's less foul
than some of the shit inside our heads.

I think it's possible for dogs,

a crowd pleaser at dog shows,

possibly trained on piles of logs

until their fear of falling goes.

But following what dogs have begun,

aided by avian chatter,

carefully hopping rung to rung

a magpie climbing a ladder.

The madman said some clever things
and had one brilliant idea
but miracles merely fulfilled
expectancies of those who feared

more ancient gods. Many who ringed
the preacher listened but didn't hear
what hardship his ideals would bring
and how his vision would cost dear.

Though words of wisdom helped hope spring,
the parable did not make clear
just how we lilies of the fields
could eke existence year by year.

How on earth could he hope to win
acceptance from more worldly peers
by telling them they should not build
up power and wealth in this life here ?

Insane to think that he could wring
respect from those whose aims he smeared;
resentment rallied the threatened guild;
disaster sailed the course he steered.

But those who prosecuted him
might have done better just to jeer
him out of court, his aura sealed
as worth no more then a passing sneer.

Better maybe to draw his sting
as crazy and let him disappear;
attention maybe was what he willed,
glad for Caesar to interfere.

I as the storm clouds quickly rose,
would have let my opinions quickly slide
but when you're a nutter, I suppose
you don't mind being crucified.

Spring is in the air

Flaunting themselves high on display,

hoping for something to come their way,

signalling that it's not too late -

tits out looking to attract a mate.

North Indian plains

After stern mountains, dour hills,
occasional cultivated valleys,
this favoured plain, unfairly lush,
amazed adventurers.

Flooded by sun more than monsoon,
plants, animals, men, gods all multiplied,
a windfall treasure trove of tax
for conquering kings of kings.

Aided by priests, this royalty
created a religion to deprive
the peasants of their harvest wealth
and glorify themselves.

Illusion fuelled by deceit
indocrinates the ignorant
with hopes of compensation bribed
by gifts for peevish gods.

Here wealth spreads thin across the fields
but stinks like dungheaps where the rajahs built;
here wives of farmers still can't read
and children beg for pens.

Monuments that amaze the world
survive the centuries built on the backs
of prematurely infirm castes
still defaecating fields.

When I was young at love, the girls passed by
because, not knowing what to do, naive and shy,
I thought I could not offer them things enough
to tempt them to me, fearing their rebuff.

Now I am older and could make them stay
with presents, evenings out, charm all the way,
self-confidence and even a witty tongue,
I only want you and you're too young.

I was gutted, hollow as a blown bird's egg.
Superficially intact, well rounded,
smooth; in fact, so insubstantial any
gust of trouble whirled me round in circles;
winter gales blew me away. Too fragile
to survive for long uncracked, uncrumbled,
here I am against all odds still running
on empty but puzzled, wondering how
to put life back into a hollow shell.