"Time flies like an arrow...
Fruit flies like a banana."
(Oettinger 1966)
It perhaps takes a poetic heart
to read an entire dark metaphoric essay underneath
such seemingly quick-laughs witticism:
...sprouts may turn fruits in time..,
but the fruits will in turn rot in time...
and the essence
just flies!
Then, after all,
"...in the thin air,
nothing lasts!?!"
particle physicist's practical joke,
not just on April 1st, rather all year:
" sub-standard-model-hai "
So, the Haiku-Take-A:
sup standard model is
5 outta 100 that it gets
humor dark matter isn't
sou me panch pata hai
matter nahee dark humor hai
sub standard model hai
==========================
aur sub dekho bhayiyon
behnon bhaison myth...ron:
paneer me kuch kaala hai
ki
matter hee kaala hai!:\
(or, chal foot, anti matter kahinke!)
In which, behold, a Chicago University linguistics professor of a multi-faceted Kannada-Tamil-English dead poet's humble translation work in English, gets extensively modified (rather 'editoriated' / EXORcised) by a Kannada-medium village-bred faceless unhumble pedestrian indignant alive...
" The ex / The Buried / The Spirit of the Tense Past "
(AKR-MGK's translation of GKA's 'Bhootha', but heavily edited / reworked by yours truly)
Here at haunting, the fetus-crypts of the tense-past:
the stale air of the abyss inside the pent old well
is crawling up, heads down, on all fours
leaping on the back of the lullabying sunbeam
is gushing even onto the canopy of the holy basil grove.
The corded umbilical discarded at the bank
the cut-mouse-tail writhes.
To me who gropes with eyes stuck in darkness
flashes, all of the sudden, a golden streak:
a squirming feather-burnt star--
somehow fallen into the new-moon-moats.
The past ghosts all over the Current Affairs.
One fold above the water, seven snow-capped peaks beneath;
out of blue accidentally fire-speak spitting
snow cowered innocent volcano.
Fold up the paper if you will --
in the soundless skeleton rooms
dumb beckoning missing beats
the carnival of reversed feet.
In the waters stagnant in the inner depths
heaping spermatozoa beating their hands;
beneath the curtain-fall of the dais-noir,
the speak-picking tail of glitter-point, - do these
not desire out-yard's colorful canopy of creepers and flowers?
No water and no shelter for the fathers and forefathers.
Shuttling tight through the high winds and rough tides
toughly, the lands though found, seldom could they obtain.
I know the tantra of exorcism, libation,
yet have forgotten the mantra herein;
just vacuously thus I am playing at waving the wand.
Gosh! trusting the high priests, west we went;
at least now must one dig into the est. hermeneutics:
the stemming of karma, the cantos of action.
As one digs, first a chrysalis of clay;
pushing the shovel deep and striking hard
one might glimpse the streaking ore of gold.
The alchemies of extraction, burning and decanting
one should learn a little, at least now;
the true craft of heating and beating the gold--
to cast it in the image of one’s own preferred god.
The water that rots in the well, steams well above;
all along the sky--its causal pathway;
the invisible seed of the void room of the overcast sky
the all-nine-months longing fetus-shape--
rumbling of liminal ghost, troubling of thunderclap--
rain is the news--
presentation for the past-form.
The plowed and seeded fields donning the laboring earth;
the garden of swinging fruits, paddy and wheat,
the golden pinnacles of the temple towers.
========================================================
For the originals, see:
https://ruthumana.com/2018/03/22/2-translations-a-k-ramanujan/
==========================================
High on the vape
making of its own
the droplet on the pan
the butt-burnt cat, self--
propels on debut.
Aye, tearlet
inverse of Leidenfrost
by the sublimating bed
of uber cold liquid zeitgeist
could but be tinkle--
toad to rebut?
**************************************
it is bylaw
that is the rumor
out and out here
the roomer
white tusker
*
-:Enter & log:-
so much of a room
out in this plain;
without a beginning,
without any end;
and this ligand, such a legend,
that I hear, in my ear, as thus they say,
't all might just be the hearsay
**
Where there is room, there ought to be the rumor,
whispering hall it all;
To track the roomer, suffices a huskier,
darkrooms highlight it all;
Behind the back, should the sledger bark,
the flaunting buttocks could care:
Fresh droppings are to just break the back
bone
tracker, beware!
***
As the blind, out in void, would often find;
the external auditor would, in tern, remind;
white tuskers remain in plain, ledgers and ledgers behind;
just glimpses, partial are the worldviews, all eye mind...
*****
-:Epilogue:-
The elephant casually swings its trunk
as if just to make some room
'ts quite the big-bang, the atharva-head bang
re-verb: the cosmic boom
'ts the murmur, the transfinite tinnitung
Shanti Shanti Om
*******
_,-'`````--.___..----.,'__`---..__
,'' ,' `.`. `.
,'' / ` ) \
// | / \
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A post,
delve post which
the offerings.