Postponement

The flower bud kept telling the bees

Every day

To come home tomorrow

For soon it would bloom;

I tell the clock and make promises

To hours that one day soon

I will go on a date with time

And do all the things I love to do,

It will just be the two of us

And I shall be present in whole

With my body and soul.

But life for now, is a set of tomorrows

That my today keeps leaning towards

And time keeps slipping

Through my busy typing fingers.

 Poor fat pregnant monkey looking for some food

Poor fat pregnant monkey needs to now look after two

Poor fat pregnant monkey hunts all over the floor

Poor fat pregnant monkey finds some but needs a lot more

Poor fat pregnant monkey can’t find the father anywhere

Poor fat pregnant monkey searches for someone who will care

Poor fat pregnant monkey begs and pleads for bread

Poor fat pregnant monkey wishes she was dead

Poor fat pregnant monkey doesn’t know what to do

Poor fat pregnant monkey might as well go blue

Poor fat pregnant monkey has no other way out

Poor fat pregnant monkey no one listens to her shout

Poor fat pregnant monkey quietly begins to steal some grain

Poor fat pregnant monkey it helps soothe her pain

Poor fat pregnant monkey needs more solids in her tummy

Poor fat pregnant monkey is about to become a mummy

Poor fat pregnant monkey scares the people away

Poor fat pregnant monkey will face the consequences some day

Poor fat pregnant monkey sees them coming with stones

Poor fat pregnant monkey felt the hurt in her bones

Poor fat monkey no longer searches for food

Poor fat monkey puked away everything that she chewed.

An Ode to Whitey

Do you know they’ve started calling you

Whitey-bitey these days? Does it seem like there is

An invisible collar around your neck now

With those words inscribed across, in CAPITALS

And everyone can see it, but only you feel it

Tighten across your throat every time you jump

On a seat to sleep and the people hastily walk

Away or scare you with their fancy multi-purpose

Umbrellas; do you feel it glue onto your skin

Because nobody notices how calm you’ve been

Since that incident 3 weeks ago, they still think

You’re that scary dog; do you find it hard to breathe

When everybody cuddles with pretty Coffee over

There and you try to remember what is was like

To be scratched beneath your ear; and at nights

Do you cry at how suffocated you feel because

You have this invisible collar tighten around your neck

And do you sometimes get angry and show your

Teeth and raise your paws to get rid of it

And do people look at you and say-

Stay away from Whitey-bitey,

Seems like he’s gonna bite someone again.

There was once a very young tree

Who had not yet understood

How to grow; but he smelled of fresh leaves

And the insides of his barks had not yet formed

Infinite circles, and the outside felt like

He always wanted a hug;

There was once a young tree

Who was beginning to understand

How to grow, and how it tormented his soul

For the sky called out to him, and so did

The grass, and he wanted to stretch high up

And far and wide; but oh, how that hurt.

There was once a tree learning how to grow

Who kept stretching here and there, and he

Always wanted more leaves on his skin

To look pretty, and deeper roots to never forget

Where he came from, and higher branches

So that he could spend more time with

All the birds he’d admired.

There was once a growing tree, who

Was so scared of getting old,for he feared he

Would no longer be able to do all the things

He was was so sure he could; and his leaves would

Fall, his branches would grow bald, and all the

Skies he had reached would shrink and he’d

Start mixing with the ground, and all the

Ants and termites would invade his skin

And start chewing him away from deep within

And the grip he had made with underground

Like fathers holding their young children

Would start to loosen a bit, and for the

First time in his life he would feel what it’s

Like to be scared that he’ll fall, and all his

Bird friends would have their own children

And move to a new house; and he’d sometimes

Think that maybe the humans too want him out

Of their pretty postcard picture.