The lunatic is on the grass.
The lunatic is on the grass.
A cool breeze wafts
through the open doors,
standing ajar,
welcoming breezes and insects.
I slip, slip deeper
in my chair
weaved out
of the bamboo sticks.
The lunatic is in the hall.
The lunatics are in my hall.
Oh!,bamboo
A green covered paperback,
swimming before
my closed eyelids.
It was the Hungry Tide.
Sunderbans, tides, mangroves, crocodiles
Houses and boats built of bamboo,
Wait! Concentrate.
A storm,
my chair shredded to pieces.
And if the dam breaks open many years too soon
And if there is no room upon the hill
No, I don't fall.
where is the hard ground of my room?
My eyelids still closed. No, stuck.
I hear the roar.
The river's roar
coupled with a tiger's.
And if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.
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