Alankrit continues

I did not run, know this! I cannot.

I walked, I could not walk well either. But the ground feels good beneath one's feet.

Often i think, why does the ground sanctify me? When nothing else does?
But why shouldn't it? It sanctifies all else.

I did not trust vehicles, but it was my raft that carried me forth from the isles of Nietzsche.

It rained seven days and seven nights, but that placid sea gave not a murmur. And this was
not stagnancy. And I grew to love the sea, and I think I might join it again. But then I saw land again. And curse me for chancing upon it!

This isle was sweet, this isle was green. There were no rivers here, yet soft ground was plentiful. How was I to again find the sea?

I could not see a shore, and the sun chose to bashfully hide itself. But what bakes my ugly skin?

I have just emerged from a cramped space. I discover my arms and legs are long!
Presently they helped me lope along.

"Can you crawl ?"

"Thieves crawl."




Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

Both of them

"I imagined this. You had a guitar."

Alankrit laughed.

"What brings you here ?"

Alankrit speaks

One summertime Saturday I heard a sound as i walked silently around hilltown Picadilly.

It was the hissing of the snakes. But there was nothing they could do. I treaded above them: just merely, slowly.

Above my head there was a cloud, but inside there was nought.
The beams were tight, the ropes were taut.

Tightroping along with the frayed temerity to pause
to remind oneself of all things - no matter, no cause!

I wrote love, they loved me!
without merciless big city cacophony.

And when I lay awake and absentmindedly strummed my heart, it gave sound!
I sat up with a start.
I lay down again, same outcome.
Since then, in all solstices rose my sun.

She was firm, yet yielding. I entered the building.
Single stair, single step, simple hall: that's all.

And now when they hiss, I puncture them with my bliss.
They weaken. They cannot die, and neither can I.

The Prince
found peaceful coexistence.  





Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

About the boy

Rasa sat at a distance and looked askew.
Rasa felt strange. Yes, she felt new.
Gone was the throbbing in her head of many's frivolous pastimes.
The boy glanced at her (along the same lines)

Alankrit

In grey Doon a boy was born
with many neighbourhoods to haunt.
Mama's god gave him words as sweet as wine
but not as sweet as what he wants.

He slept with a weaver bird's nest above his head
around coloured books in shelves.
Around midday baby loved reaching up above his crib
and slothfully stretching himself.

At fifteen he was confused,
society bade him choose sides.
To protest all that was wrong with the world
he left his shoes untied.

At eighteen, placidly among the rabble he took to talking like a sage.
Mother bade him be like the other boys and dream dreams of maximum wage.

"Act your age !"

Away from sallow guitars! Away from plaints of the shattered and the broken...

he ran to the bottom of the lake.

 






Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

 Chapter III



Rasa skipped off again, behind her shrieked the birds
"Least leave behind your footprints so we can shame them with our words!"

Rasa got tired of skipping after a while: she started walking and went on another mile. A little to the left she observed a clump of trees and beheld a clear pond, clear as dew. Or was it a lake?
And so Rasa plunged in and slowly sank to the bottom of the matter.

There was a boy there.

"Who are you"? The words ran out of her mouth, her eyes saying something else together.

"I am the Prince.
I am the lowly.
Iam the damned,
I am the holy.
My hands are ten knives!
I am the dove
whose wings are murder.
My name is love."



Its a sick world, sick,sick,sick.

Chapter II


Two birds then sat in; their wings on fire, not abdul kalam
The black one grimaced and reached under its arm.
"There will always be two, Us and Them"!
That is the only way we will have great men!

The white one, a great one himself, teared up and gave spleen
"He may be right." And he vanished in between
Reapparition! And he placed a funny plant on the ground
"It is thus that they say the lord first gave sound"!

And so they sat and waited, little Rasa haunched be'twixt them
And nothing was to be seen of the loons and the thin men.


.

Little Rasa walked off alone to broaden her sight
An orb flew out from the depths of the night!
'Tu whit too-woo!Who are you?"

Choose now, it said all up in her head
Choose! It bellowed and croaked with all its fluttering might
She seemed to twinkle: and Rasa walked off alone in the night.

"Budhha nature".. A fat man shimmered up, knowing and meek.
Robes of Red and Orange, he smiled and went on before Rasa could speak.
"Budhha nature. Budhha- naature is what you seek."

To the face before you were born (that was my face too)
there is one golden path; it will reveal itself to you!
It is you you seek! Not I, I say!
It is the formless to whom those who were before the ancients prayed.

Then the smiler's face froze as the chit of a girl grew bold
"What? Half of it was in parentheses of what you just told.
There is heaven, there is hell! A thin loon on a horse whizzed in!
His head bobbed up and down. He spat. "Learn the rules of the town you are in!"
 
It's a sick world. Sick, sick, sick.