Some Truths in Exile

 
Flowers ripen into flame trees,
hearts ripen into boatmen,
water ripens into liquid gold—
who are you, musician?
Darkness grows large, light grows taut!


Hearts ripen into blood-clotted nights,
bamboo boxes hold burnt eggplant and rice,
crow-birds with sleight-of-hand,
strike at my very roots…
Fierce evasion, judge!


Shameless whole bulls,
water-paintings… color-sickle provisions,
bleat bleat bleat, raft-like oaths…
Agree to bind, or else be rogue!
Shame shame shame! Are all these bastards thieves and heretics?


Rotten sacks from start to finish,
ruined busy kings,
cheap beasts, caste-thieving ghosts,
temple bells, ten-armed messengers,
drunken revels, the poet's friendship!


Eternally perfected drum's punishment,
perhaps a cheroot, or else ganja,
evil-natured cunning nawab,
eat your greens! Or else kebabs,
you'll lose your leaves—what else will you do?