SOME TIMES I TALK

Some times I talk to the bourgeoisie

For brahminism I do not like

Sometimes I talk to the working class

For capitalism, I do not like

Some times I talk to the native

For colonialism, I do not like

Sometimes I meet with Nandubhai

For  pompousness, I do not like

Sometimes I give you a kiss

Because kisses melt ice

And boil me no end.

Sometimes I talk  to Mr.Babu

Because I don’t like officialese

And won’t beat a race.

Sometimes I go to a sermon

And eat a plate of minnows,

A cruel act, I beg your pardon!

Some times I stop at Sivagiri

And call out to a friend,

Am I impatient, dear one

Or in-patient, Doctor!

Oh, you there! Still one and not many?

Sometimes I talk to a grandma

Because she do sing her teethless song

And her wrinkles open like roses

That will never die.

Sometimes I play with kids

And search for the son of God

And would come to know that all of us were-

Oh, what confusion!

Some times I talk to a sinner, isn’t it a sin?

Sometimes I see a shadow

With a long tail, is it rama or mara

How would I know?

Because coins have many sides

And this one shows just one.

I don’t like rama, but if it were rama

And If he were a queen

I wouldn’t still bother

Because I don’t like fraud

Maybe Sita knows better!

I put it there and I wonder-

Was it put right?

There I see her

Are you not Rama?

That is just right

But you keep your tail from under me

And from under Bali, for he is such a one!

Why not let Sita go, and marry your Hanuman, at least, he is such a man!

A hunter knows to close a dogs mouth

But waits for the sign

And a fool creeps up from behind thinking it all his doing

And wisdom walks through alleyways

And you have never walked there.

And wisdom walks through weaver’s lanes

Looking out for Kabir.

And wisdom walks in Braillet’s ways

For she did know a craft

So what if a witch calls you to bed, wouldn’t you better go?

Why shouldn’t Rama wash for us, though not to settle a score.

Oh you traveler of the forests, where is ayyappa?

Oh, he sleeps in Shabari’s hut, isn’t it a crime

And he sleeps in Vavar’s house, Isn’t it a crime

Oh,  sits like Janu’s old uncle, oh what a poor guy?

Why were you in that shit house so long?

Oh they trapped me in that place and told that they would feed me gold

And they shat all around me

And I wouldn’t  still eat a crumb.

And they went to East fort, which still was in the west

And they smoked their incenses and showed off their licences

And put a pot on women’s backs

As if she didn’t know!

And they smoked the city pot

Till they boiled in their pots

And she, every which way they searched

Was no more to be seen!

And she met with Mohammed

A painter to the core.

Sometimes I talk to the politician

Because network is bad elsewhere

And I know that either way, the world doesn’t care.

Because women have kissed me with their fire

My ire is all but gone,

And you Hanu,  who  gave me a kiss,

Because you know me

For a guy who never saw

A tail where there was none

And was all respect to Bali

Whom Rama wouldn’t meet

‘cause he was frightened no end

To put up a fight

Your bedtime hero

Who never sulks!

I knew him for zero

Every whichever way he went!