The Phoenix
You burn, you blaze,
You were the name, the world had on its lips.
Then sudden or slow, the promise died.
You faltered.
The jackals ringed you round.
The hyenas took the bone.
The vultures got their piece.
You were crushed, then cast out with the rubbish.
Now sorry figure covered in spit and ash,
and purpled bruises…
You find the alleyways are your haunt.
You sit now in the aftermath of your life.
Some shall wait for death, or better still, hammer on his door.
But not you.
It’s time
To rise again.
And put the Sun to shame.
Remind the world its flame.
And man that he is taper.
Let loose upon the world a joy.
They lie.
The second kiss is deeper than the first.
Dusty Rainbows
(Tone, deep voice half singing)
There's a rainbow
that's fallen to the ground
It's dusty,
it's dirty,
its tattered and torn
Hey brother, could it be yours?
You could wash it and dust it
Maybe a child will find it
when playing marbles
Or hooky from school.
There's a rainbow that's dusty,
on the side of the road,
if you find it, will you leave it behind?
maybe you need it.
A rainbow's a good thing to have.
There's a rainbow leading up
like a staircase to the stars
It's got cobwebs
so you can tell
that the angels have stopped coming home.
“You've been a bad boy
too often”, they say.
There's a rainbow
that's fallen to the ground.
Here take it. Don't lose it again.
A new score.
{A film script pretending to be a poem. Appeared in Deccan Herald Bangalore}
Open on a junior Angel, monitoring the Earth and in particular the World Cup Finals.
He looks puzzled. Double checks the telescopes with growing alarm.
He rushes off {printouts in hand} to a supervising angel. Who's sitting bored. Twiddling his thumbs. You see them huddle, the supervising angel's indifference gives way to an aghast alarm, he picks up his robes and rushes out…
Down the corridors of heaven they go, consulting higher and higher authorities, the crowd of anxious angels growing by the minute.
Till finally, they arrive at a door with a brass plate titled: GOD.
Cut to God inside chairing a high-powered meeting on a new universe. He is most displeased as the door bursts open and the huge delegation bursts in, with a very nervous, very tiny, about-to-pee-in-his-pants very junior angel at its head.
“I am sure you have good reason to disturb me gentlemen?” God asks, in a voice that is ever-so-controlled.
The Very Junior Angel pulls out 2 sheets of paper.
“This was our score, sir”, he says. “2-0”.
“And this was their score. “1-2”
There's a long moment of terrified silence.
Then God lifts his arms in triumph and exclaims.
“They did it. By Jove, they did it. They actually managed free will.”
The super appears: Go ahead, amaze me.
The World Cup Final
{A film script pretending to be a poem}
Open on a goal. The roars indicates it's the world cup. The fangs of frenzied fans indicate it's the final. The claymatic grass indicates its claymatic grass. The beer paunches and beer bottles strewn indicate things are going to get ugly. We catch the action at a heart pounding time. The game is going to be decided by tie breaker.
Goalies leap, footballs tear through the net. Commentator's burst veins. Families murder each other with claymatic gore. Intercuts of real autopsies add to the black humour.
Man this is unbelievable. Everything's tied. Everything rests on the final shot.
The last shooter approaches… {In nations across the world, people are having heart attacks}…then smoothly pulls out an exaggerated machine gun and starts blazing.
You can see the bullets hit. Bones shatter.
But the goalie will not fall.
The whole stadium breaks into applause. The shooter, with great gamesmanship, applauds too.
The goalie staggers, but does not fall.
The camera pulls back, you see the game has been viewed on a TV.
And 2 beer pals have had a bet. One is God. The other, the devil.
The devil counts out some big ones into God's fist.
The super appears: Go ahead, amaze me.