About the man who invented the wheel

A man filed a patent for his invention
of the wheel,all rights reserved for
mankind,he was told.And then he
went to the court,soon he was
wheeled out of the courtroom ,on the
stretcher of law.
In his never-ending
dream,he saw wheels within
wheels.The wheels of the world kept
turning.

When Moses spoke to his basket

The Basket it was that has
made me me.It wasn't a complete
abandon,it couldn't have been,
ensconced in a basket woven by man
to be returned to man.How the river
that suppressed its desire to teach me
swim, to servilely carry me back to
humanity,to lead the very species that
deserted me.
And now a thousand years later,when
they talk about Apocalypse every day
on TV,
how I wish I should have leapt
out of that basket back then,learned to
swim ,grown into a Moby Dick to rule
the world once the Great Flood consumes
mankind.The water is where I have always
belonged .

Writing the immortal poem

Here I begin writing
my immortal poem
and I want to use words
whose meanings will not
change over the ages
-a wish I am denied as
the readers shall change
anyway,the subtleties
of today are destined to
dissolve in the cliches of
tomorrow,and now I am
perplexed as consequently
metaphor seems an impossible
ambition.A string of symbols
that echoes in the psyche of
the future-it could only be
a song that you can close
your eyes and bale out of your
throat.I should have penned the
anthem of a country or the
hymn of a new religion,but
for that I need to be a man
of some significance.
Helpless,I cry at my occasion
I shall pass this blank paper
then,carrying the fingerprint
of my failure over to posterity,
hoping that many ages hence,
someone can always read a poem
into the creases left by the hands
of history.

In-vitro imagination

You have been hooked to your
tube for my days in the tube
the spectacle of my conception
has been your favorite reality
show and when I became the
whole lucky enough to be more
than the sum of my stolen parts
you sentenced me to my term
in the womb ,a mere rite of passage,
another tube .
Soon,you will pluck me,
for your own consumption
through the tube of my life
the walls of which are as
deceptively transparent as
the one I was conceived in,
the only difference being I
now harbor a wish to break out
so that every now and then I
have run headlong onto it.

That night of total darkness

Overnight the holy truths broke
out of the prison of sacred texts,
the farther they fled from prison,
the tinier they became,till all that
remained of them was an army of
a million mice hurrying for a mass
suicide in the high seas.
Splash!!
And the world ,still sleeping sunk
in the waters of ignorance.
Books and archives,now emptied
of weighty knowledge spilled over
from the shelves,triggering a giant
tsunami of lost words and phrases
in which you feared for the life
of friends and family.
Life or Death,you thought.
but as you saw the city rebuild from the same
ruins,you could tell it was all a matter
of choosing Right or Left like always
You never need to live
upside down in an inverted
world,as ants scaling falling
towers will tell you.

Land of far too many clothes

History has always worked
day and night in invisible,underground
sweatshops to stitch up new clothes
for men,with a such a rare diligence
that there came to be too many clothes
and too few men.And even fewer Gods
and just one,sole piece of land.
The clothes have begun fighting
among themselves to dress up
the Gods and cover up lands they
cannot dress.For how can a piece
of land ever slip into a cloak like man
does?But clothes keep fighting nonetheless
and you can hear the blows loud and clear
as the pants kick and the sleeves throw
a punch .You know what a wizard
the tailor named History is.
So,undress at your doorstep
get naked and stay ,locked up
inside your houses while the clothes fight.
Do not step out or the clothes shall shoot
you at sight.