Like the Gir lion ,we look back
Stop and walk on mildly bored.

A lion has no worry of danger
But has no stomach for ennui

Specially the jungle shepherds
Who are repeat five feet things.

Like a lion we only make sure,
Ennui not following too close.



The selfie man expands a frame
Moving on the footpath at dawn

Excludes a turquoise sea far off
With crows shouting on a beach

Excludes the stone of the statue
Of a leader petrified in his hand

That points to new politics style
Where people are raised hands

And they are his hand statistics
In percentages, living and dead.

Selfie is frame holding his body,
Other bodies being coincidental.


A scheme of small things

In a scheme of small things
A little girl from a white box

Stared a white church spire
Where a blue bodied worker

Whitened the November sky.
She is a yellow sunbeam lent

To us too briefly ,it says here,
A pale grey ,stone engraving.

A pale blue dot is dust mote
Suspended in lone sunbeam.

We live and die on it, gravely,
As if all this really mattered.

(After Carl Sagan’s famous Pale Blue Dot observation and Arundhati Roy’s novel The God of Small Things)