Ashok Niyogi
Nature has stature
As you see,
Or else,
How can the tree be?
At angles that you can’t contemplate
Only monkeys know the math.
All said and done,
It is about fun;
Now, if retardation is fashion,
Then monkeys will have bread
Thrown from bus windows.
To hell with shadows,
To hell with the setting sun
The smells are not the same,
The creepers know the game,
They adapt.
To live is to win,
All else is a long-drawn whine
Crooked houses on the Marina
Which will never belong to me.
But the blue is blue
On the mountains before dawn,
And the air is air
The sun is sun.
Horses at the gallop
With sunshades half drawn,
Yachts in the bay
Red-oxide on the Golden Gate,
Negroes acrobatic
In front of the quay,
Songs from Sony rule the day.
I give your weekend back to you,
Come smell the hay
In the valleys between the hills,
Humble as they are,
Come; be frantic on your brakes,
As a cow decides it has to cross,
Because it has to cross;
The lack of reason engrosses me,
As does the smell,
The only smell.
