TALES OF HALF MEN CHORUS LINES 5 & 6

                                       TALES OF HALF MEN 

CHORUS LINES 5 & 6

Chorus lines  5

It rained, softened earth

and radiated smiles

clouds in sky floated as if it ruled,

spread over and touched sky

it was a brazen life force.

Like lullaby and amorous whispers

breeze wafted beside placid touches,

and walked in melodic mumbles

in music with a soul of jungles,

hopped-tripped in chaste prayers,

to spread over the bed

to taste moments of pleasure.

Here God lives in each pulsation

she is a little goddess,

wishing for a mausoleum that has no casket.

Chorus lines 6

Young run about in the fields

with pets of sorts, and play

farmers work, women sing in refrain

a folklore of a tragic love,

a poignant wail of a widow,

who scrubs linens and basins

of men dead long before,

who perfected marital ties in battlefields

of Kuch of Rann and Vietnams unspecified.

As folklores’ tunes, enchant,

hymns to the creator rustle,

and spirits soulful buzz in praise

of God.

Dazed it is that instills icy joy

while a black king opens a fridge,

with skulls of history, the past that laments

and laughs as morsels of flesh pulsate,

while Amin prays with lips red,

even as a nation looks out for a fugitive

hiding behind a woman’s black robe,

to escape a bullet from the sky.

Then works with energy

in paddy and maize fields, and in sandy land,

in narrow water channels that fascinate

with echoes of tunes mild.

Please lend ears as refrain mesmerizes

and elevates dewy cold of eyes,

where a spirit lives, a belief survives

not to raid sins but live with vices.

A walk on the mount lines is risky.

For it is a thin borderline of fields,

it is clear as I sit alone in a town,

that drives out the crazy,

and the crude in pain I affirm,

I can’t get out.

A visor spectator I am, as workers look busy

in sandy farming,

work of fields a difficult art I learn

in forests, springs, and rivers

it prolongs hope and joy in life held as a captive

for long without releases,

with a question sign on existence

living underground and gets blackened.

It is past and I sit to sip coffee

and a feeling overwhelms drained-out body

varied hued soil still chases fresh

and it tastes perfect, and so earthly.

It touches like a prayer pale

and putrid leaves stir gently,

quietly speak of a godly charisma,

as bells ring when the priest is naked.