Monday, August 22, 2011

ride, bull, soul

life is moving
like a bullock cart
the left side bull's right side horn
is broken at the tip

& all horns of both bulls

are painted
blue green yellow and deep orange

the broken horn carries an agarbathi
& the fragrance spreads like
ink on a blotter
& makes a beautifully wierd pattern
in the still the horns slice through it

the minds playfully gets lost in these patterns
suddenly emerging to breathe clear air at times...
soon trying to move back again for comfort...but the patterns play hide and seek

the cart is swaying with the road
& me too
& the mind caresses faraway walls of reason
& swings back

the reigns are loosely held
& the whip has gone to sleep lying down

---the hand can touch it, the mind cant
the mind can move it, the hand cant---

the tails of the bulls
keep the flies away
& swings any way, even when
the flies die trapped in the maze, crowed by the pushy mind

the bulls droppings
are dry before they hit the hot sand
& the heat make the far away palms dance
to a rhythm
the water-maids copy with their hips
fragrance from their sweat
pull the mind out
to capture it and safe keep in the maze
for warmth in the night

a lantern is lit
& hung behind
& swing & swing
to join the fire flies
caged flame lives
free flies die

the breeze turns cool
& the birds fly home
a crow alights on bull-2 for a free ride
its dark deep eyes taunting

the minds moves the whip
& the crows' off
its laughter cracking open the dark sky
telling the world that the whip moves

lying on the cloud
& sipping chilled wine
the soul watches
the journey down