Please Linger In This Life

The oinking of the piglets

Out in the green patch the window overlooks, 

In the swaying of the trees

Of guavas that swell in the summer, 

Competing against the flame tree of Gulmohar, 

All but captured in picture books. 

The light years between a yes and a no, 

The reverberating obvious of a deliberate oblivion. 

The frequency of smiles and frowns 

Adorning a single pair of lips in meridian. 

The songs the birds chirp to the Gods

All the while they think of their pods. 

The craft of rewriting a poem erased on accident, 

In the blood, bones and nerves wrongly bent, 

While the rhyme goes for a toss, 

Words misspelled are coined anew, 

While doublethink becomes a lifestyle of sorts. 

Democracy becomes questionable of, for and by few. 

But the metrics are all wrong, 

Numbers made up, 

Humans dissolute to that which observes them, 

For the observer becomes observed, 

They keep printing papers of, by and for all. 

This began as a voice of hope. 

The politics shall be swept aside, 

Gently go back to the strip of green the window overlooks, 

Sit with the butterflies flapping with beauty, 

Grace trickles as nectar flows smoothly, 

Beyond the changes of space and time, 

Butterflies are still beautiful.