TALES OF HALF MEN
Chorus
lines 3
Eye-language of animals resists,
and birds lack option in hunter’s noose
as dumb live in fretful times of inquiry
by the lord of death,
where a wordless hunt digs a hole deep,
and in the heart fosters a recurrent truth
of death in tentative times by men,
or by men who may be half men
as the thoughts throb
agonizing to digest, I weep alone.
As an adolescent I learnt to live
in the fields, jungles and grasslands
in fiery hills along eely foliage
I frisked about, scrambled,
and lived in old caves to bury secrets,
of incestuous relations and ancestors.
With unending feasts on barbecue
with scores of man-eaters, panthers
birds and cannibals too, infused vigour
and nerves stirred
a wild liberty of forest sandy,
when pacified brisk flickers of heart,
wrestled with doctors’ forks and pincers,
wandering with tipsy fingers,
at times slipping into the nurses’ bodies
while the women on table in green robe
trying to give birth to half men,
and men headless.
Chorus
lines 4
Deep furrows, pines and deodars
and distending hill ranges,
deserted specks of bare snow
on grimy peaks and barren valleys,
appeared in search of a land to rest on
as silent souls of mute springs wished to flow,
for these nature’s objects loved
so that men live in muted harmony,
despite an uprooted location
of men and women who nurse.
But still rustling leaves
and runny melodies, and wild roots
fruit and spring water,
life ancient yet modern, of sounds
whacking words unsaid
tranquilize and amaze.
Culture lenient is crusted
burgled and arsons disturbed,
loud festivities, songs, and numbing cries
dynamic and rational all,
collided to prolong a tempest
as a ritual to linger on and desecrate,
let alone clamour in focus
beyond the hills, trees and rocks
in feelings far off those words,
as sentiments of alliance
pestering kindly in the jungles,
to remind a truth eternal.
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