Tuesday, March 3, 2015

...

At the crack of midnight, the machine gets its bout of mental disorder.
Like a maniac it shouts its screetches into the dreamless night.

Eyes which are sick of rotating around the machine wants to break free from the laws of gravity. I take the disobedient eyes to the firing's beggar hospital where I enact the role of the super beggar from third world.

My Lord Buddha..
You who left everything to take up begging.
How did you swim past the CCTV cameras and super market counters to reach the mountains?

I am in many ways a disciple of yours. As for desires, there are a few left; like the few hairs in a bald head. In this birth, I just can't seem to get the dancer's anklets. I might have worn them in another birth and forgotten them somewhere.

So, the monk's robe might be useful. Please send them in instalments

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