All the pains are aimed at the body
And all bribes of pleasure, too,
For the body is the place where
Mind resides and the soul comes to rest.
“What is the soul?” you may ask,
“And what X-ray or CT scan depicts it?
What bodily fluid tests can detect it?
Or what MRI machine paints its full picture?”
“Not touched or seen or measured is the soul,” says I.
“Rather, when our savage body congregates
With a reasoned mind, the soul is issued.
But it is chained not to this corporal cage,
Instead, free to visit and leave the nest as is pleased.”
The soul is…
Hear me, the race and posterity
Of Ilus the Great,
There comes a point when
Just war becomes genocide
And self-defence gives way to
Invasion and occupation.
They, the ensembled warring Achaeans,
Led by Agamemnon and his brother,
Menelaus of Sparta, the indignant husband,
Claim the reason for their
Current violent presence is to
Retrieve the beautiful queen Helen —
As if the apple of discord
Thrown by the goddess Eris —
And to teach my loafer brother,
Prince Alexandros, a lesson,
Although I suspect it is wicked Hera
And envious Athena who stirred the pot
Of war and wove…
Here you go, I give you a tiny
Slice of my life — sweet and sour,
Frosted with spicy savours,
Layered by the flavours of
Opioid and the texture
Of Bitter gourds.
I have observed the events of
My life keenly and chronicled
Them in my diary:
Like, that thin film of light
Shining annoyingly through
The gap between a
Set of lazily drawn curtains;
That particle of dust sneaking
Inside my eyes, or the
Creating the same effect
As the former.
My hiding like a bumblebee
Inside a flower’s soft walls,
And suddenly fleeing,
In the trembling…
I assume nature likes disproportion
For it has created huge animals
With tiny brains like those
Of rhinos and elephants.
And has created gigantic trees
Like ferns and firs with tiny leaves.
Conversely, it has crafted small animals
Like humans and rats with big brains.
And has crafted seven feet tall
Men and women, and little ones too,
Similarly, it has made a few human beings
With all the faculties except
Humanity, love, compassion,
Understanding and consideration.
Some of these people are big as bears
(Like the Trumps).
But their heart is full of tiny
Poisonous leaves like the hemlock tree.
And if asked for any
Favors, they will shake
It has been said that
Measured calculations, and fastidious
It has been said that
Culture eats strategy
Nowhere is that truer
Than on the battlefield
And in nation-building,
For the fog of war
And the tricks of politics
Disorients the most
Disciplined and fools
The most cunning.
The slowly ingrained
In the household, among
Siblings and pets and families;
In schools, among friends and teachers
On the playground, with coaches
And cheerleaders and teammates;
In the prayer hall, with deities and
Priests and devotees;
In the market, while bargaining with
In nightmares or in siestas,
He comes, stooping and shaking —
Chilling in the willing winter breeze.
And proceeds to explain in a high-pitched tone:
“Once the serene yogurt is disturbed,
The buttermilk is bound to break loose
And it shall never go firm again.”
Hearing a blood-curdling howl,
We look up and behold
A deformed, double-winged,
being chuffed to bits and
Ready for a repeat duel.
Ignoring, Raskolnikov continues:
“I wish not to fight the old-world battles.
I vie to create a world afresh and fight
Its new wars on my own turf and terms.”