In Search of Excellence

The reluctant minion has tears in his eyes.
And a grimace on his face—
   He has he been crying...
   Or... Has he been laughing?!

Blind to his torment and predicament
   the lordships roar timidly into
   the imagined horizons of gold and glitter.
They ride on shifty waves of delusion;
Powered by gusty winds of arrogance.
Self-righteousness is their only map.
And the destination, a vague presumption.

The minion surveys the flagship and sighs—
   Where are the oars?
   Where is the rudder?

A Hustle Amidst the Bustle

Life―
Is a tussle,
a hustle amidst the bustle,
of alternatives and choices,
made worse by
oxy-morons and paradoxes.

A trade-off―
between pros of this and cons of that;
between cons of this and pros of that;
between the safe and the right;
between bank notes and sleep good night;
between what they say I ought to do,
and what I say I want to do.

But I am not one of the fighters;
Just an arbiter of destinies
of fictional characters.

Let me retreat
to the refuge of the world
of make-belief and rosy tints,
of veiled protests and subtle hints,
of safety of my family,
lovingly, warmly and cozily;
Where courage shakes hand with prudence;
Where ambition makes room for convalescence.

Life is a tussle,
a hustle amidst the bustle.
But I am one of the fighters
who armed with ideas and characters
wage war against might and muscle.

The Great Promise

On the infinite beaches of life,
along the vast oceans of time,
we're boulders of our imaginations,
but grains of our decisions.

Little Men

Dreary dystopia and despondent chance
        siege me from all sides;
Miniscule men with mammoth shoes
        stomp into my cube;
Demented dwarfs with duplex heads
        butt away my scrolls;
Lazy leeches with large mouths
        suck the life out of me;
Machiavellian maggots do a manic dance
        and eat the insides of my head;
Indignant inferno in incandescent rage
        come rescue me to cinders;
Fearless phoenix with felicity and grit
        rise gloriously from my ashes.

Yep!

Yep! Wipe that sweat off your forehead.
That is real real. The only real.

The road behind, a trail of flummoxed dust.
The road ahead, a mirage of unreal impossibilities.
And all around you, catch-me-if-you-cans of
all things dear to you,
Poof-poofs of brick, metal and flesh.

Yep! Wipe that sweat off your forehead.
That is real real. The only real.

The Crushing March of Inevitability

The earth was pulsing in an uneasy rhythm
I could hear the distant thump of time
As I lay splayed on its barren path
Waiting...
...waiting for it to overrun me
The crushing march of inevitability.

Day In, Day Out

Day in, Day out
Day in, Day out
Day in, Day out
Day in, Day out
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work

Yawn

Brush Brush Brush Brush
Brush Brush Brush Brush
Brush Brush Brush Brush
Brush Brush Brush Brush
Splat Gloop Poo
Splat Gloop Poo
Slurp Munch Glug
Slurp Munch Glug
Damn Damn Damn Damn
Damn Damn Damn Damn
Damn Damn Damn Damn
Damn Damn Damn Damn

Vroom Honk Screech
Vroom Honk Screech
Sonofabitch!
Vroom Honk Screech
Vroom Honk Screech
Yikes!

Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Lick Lick Lick Lick
Lick Lick Lick Lick
Lick Lick Lick Lick
Lick Lick Lick Lick
Type Type Type Type
Type Type Type Type
Type Type Type Type
Type Type Type Type
Yikes!
Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck
Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck
Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck
Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck
Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry
Lick Lick Lick Lick
Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry
Lick Lick Lick Lick

Vroom Honk Screech
Vroom Honk Screech
Sonofabitch!
Vroom Honk Screech
Vroom Honk Screech
Yikes!

Nag Nag Nag Nag
Nag Nag Nag Nag
Nag Nag Nag Nag
Nag Nag Nag Nag
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Work Work Work Work
Yikes!
Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry
Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss
Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry
Kiss Kiss Kiss Kiss
Slurp Munch Glug
Slurp Munch Glug

Yawn, Fuck, Zzzz

Day in, Day out
Day in, Day out
Day in, Day out
Day in, Day out

A Pile of Trashed Files and Empty Binders

Carcasses of discarded arguments;
Empty shells of history
   of acts of men and machines.
An unwanted pile of incidents –
   like no one really cares;
   like now no one really cares.
Orphaned bastards of commercial transactions;
A past being buried unremarkably;
To be consigned to flames without ado.
Hope they burn bright;
They have burned many a life.

Code Brown

The baby plopped out of its mother’s womb —
Nameless, classless, creedless, casteless.
No, don’t ask its sex.
No, don’t ask its colour.
We will raise it to discriminate anyway.
A baby is a baby — delicate, innocent, pure.
And before it could get naughty — potty.
Welcome to the human race, babe.
Potty — the last bastion of your form-free self.
Henceforth, you may prejudice
And be prejudiced against.

Shit —
The conclusion of an existential dissertation.
The end of a churning voyage.
The putrid punishment of past sins.

You cannot deny its existence —
In your life, in your bowels.
Howsoever you may hide your fetid crop,
Howsoever you may camouflage your greedy guts,
You can’t escape the daily dump.
While you wallow in it throughout the day,
It wallows within, out on its way.
And when it gets too much to take,
You excrete and sigh away.

Every day millions of tonnes of faeces
Rush through the gutters of human bowels —
Silently, indiscriminately.
There's something saintly about excreta —
It treats all mankind equally.
It doesn't stop in its track
Just because you're rich or famous or fair.
It doesn't ignore your anus
Just because you're poor or unknown or dark.
In front of the noxious altar of ejectamenta,
EVERY–ONE–SQUATS.

Shitting —
The amoral exposure of self,
The crude down-to-earther,
The ultimate equalizer.
The only voluntary involuntary act you will commit
Every day of your life.

The Hindu does it,
And the Muslim too.
The Shia shits,
The Sunni shits.
The Catholic shits,
So does the Protestant.
And I'm sure, every prophet worth his salt
Shat — somberly, religiously.
The statesman does it,
And he did it too when he was a politician.
The electorate does it,
And it does it too after the elections.

The ‘holy’ Brahmin poops.
The ‘lowly’ Dalit poops.
Even the person claiming to be pure,
Poops.
Even the person cleaning all the poop,
Poops.
The twice-born craps,
The once-born craps,
The born-again craps.

The corpulent minister in the red-beacon car —
He takes a dump before dumping the nation.
The mafia don with his balls in the gun —
He craps before he beats you to crap.
Your dimwit boss with a chauvinist stride —
He shat in the office loo before he shat all over your daily happiness.
Your object of lust, the sexy star —
Thank your stars you don’t see her shit.

In the secluded privacy of your restroom
You hide your dignity from all mankind.
You hide from your husband,
You hide from your kids,
You hide from your girlfriend.
But you don’t hide from yourself.
Not copulation,
This is your weakest moment.

Look at yourself —
Sitting in a limbo,
Waiting for nature to take its course,
Exposed to the mercies of the elements.
Where is your vanity?
(Oh, I’m sure you look fabulous!)
Where is your arrogance?
(Oh, I’m sure you’re the king of the world!)
It's laughable that you seek
A clean and sanitized life
When sanity is finally restored
Only after the labored strife.
Coz when you’re finally done,
You clean your own gooey mess.
No one does it for you.
No one does it for you.

Everybody who's somebody
And everybody who's nobody
Begins or ends his day
By prostrating before the lavatory.
And stool is the common string
That runs through all hues of mankind.
The cream pie and the chocolate mousse,
The chicken tikka and the stuffed goose —
Beautiful, fragrant, delights on the tongue —
End up in a heap of distasteful dung.
And that is life, the long and the short of it —
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, shit to shit.

Disambiguation

Life's a merry-go-round,
Mary, go round roll up a joint.

Someone's losing weight,
Someone's gaining weight,
Someone's just not getting the point.