Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Papua and the Cow

"The cow needs to be tamed, as it has gone mad", said the farmer.

"Can you run?", Papua asked the cow. It simply shook it's head. It was not interested. It was looking at the bundle of grass that lay nearby. It kept chewing and drooling from it's mouth shamelessly without caring about anything in the world.

"Can you do something with him?", the farmer asked. "If not, I will sell him off to the butcher's at least then perhaps we will see some emotion on her smug stupid face", chuckled the farmer.

"No!", said Papua. "Give her to me. I will buy her!". The farmer was surprised at first and later shrugged and remarked "Whatever!".

He gladly took the money, Papua held in his outstretched hand.

Papua then took the cow and the bundle of grass and walked on. The cow followed. When he reached the edge of the forest, he removed the rope from the cow's head and let it meander into the woods as he watched it eat some leaves off a tree.

"You are as mad as her, you fool!", shouted the farmer who watched from far away.

"Yes!", replied Papua.

"We are both mad and similar. We yearn freedom to live the life we seek, the way we want to live. When the world does not allow that, we create our own imaginary world and live in them joyously totally indifferent to this stupid world you live in"

The farmer stared back at him, with an expressionless face.

"Get lost, you fool!", he shouted back and turned away.

The two fools walked on free and fair
Alone and filled with joy in solitary firmness
Their worlds collide and to enter them; they dare
Walked the two fools to their calm and happiness
They whistled and sang; their hearts so cool
No one cared for any lonely grinning fool
And hence is retold this foolish story
Of fools, about fools, must be by a fool

Friday, July 10, 2015


The rage of the afternoon sun, quietens the garden
Leaves don't stir and dead is the breeze
Flowers, they stand bright, yet tense and solemn
I walk alone, knows not the world, what one sees

Those songs over the wall of the neighbour's children
The games they play, their cries I hear
At night I know they are burning, faces ashen
For them I plead, but the world shows no mercy here

For the world lives, but yet to many lays dead
Their cries and whispers, to which I lend an ear
The fire rages within my mind, yet wronged is my head
"Please see, Please hear, the beauty of the story in each tear"

I oft wonder, where my world of dreams lies
For infinite is the beauty I see, Deep is the peace I feel
And yet this world seeks to wake me up; I don't arise
 My inner calm, how do I allow them to steal?

At night, the stars alight and this world sleeps; Sigh!
But learn I shan't how they forget, how they keep sailing
A storm in my heart, Rocks their boats not, Why?
From paradise to travel, I fail and keep failing

And still I shall not despair, for my wings are strong
Fly I can, above the castles of lore, through forests green
But there are shackles on my feet that feel wrong
I scream hard and faint, yet I am not noticed or seen.

I bleed and bleed, the brightness of the red, so dizzy
I feel not the pain of the thorn and still the roses fade
Afternoon in the garden, I sit still, my mind numb and busy
O' Asylum, my asylum, to thee; farewell, how shall I bade?

 Pic Courtesy - The Garden at St.Remy's Asylum, painted by the master Van Gogh , Photo Courtesty Hans Ollerman