Amid an ocean of glistening gems
His chest heaves up and down, slowly
Like the waves.
The waters are gentle and warm
And they tease his skin sometimes
Making him smile at their playfulness.
Vishnu sleeps, above a bundle of anxious nerves
He sleeps sheltered underneath the umbrella of a cobra head
There’s gentle sounds of bells lulling him from somewhere
There’s a shower of fragrant flowers soothing his senses from the heavens above
There’s a soft glow in the rays from the sun god to the side
There’s a water goddess who he dreams of.
Vishnu sleeps, floating amass a boundless universe
Vishnu sleeps, through creation
The rivers overflow, the waterfalls rush down, the mountains crumble,
The volcanoes erupt, the ground rips apart,
And the vegetation freezes.
The world thaws, the butterflies come back,
Children laugh and hold hands
And the elderly wave their goodbyes
Life goes on,
in disappearing circles.
His chest heaving up and down, slowly
Cushioned over a bundle of wrecked serpentine nerves
His face glowing
His lips, smiling
Vishnu sleeps consciously
amid an open warm ocean
Inside the heart.
For the longest time it’s been banana trees, coconut trees, marigolds, lotuses, cotton, sugar canes,
Pigeons and sparrows
Plan C is to quit work, live in a rainy tropical jungle, and sleep under a banana leaf
I want to have my birthday in springtime again,
When pink flowers blossom on trees and the world is misty and green with faraway callings of tropical, colorful birds.
I want to jump on a freshly made bed again
and play air guitar crazily like an innocent
There’s a beautiful bird out in a forest. She flies her little wings up and down the hilly terrain near the glistening, cold Himalayas. They refer to her as Noori; this beautiful, colorful bird. On rare occasions they get a glimpse of her striking beauty. Yet always, they hear her tweeting her silly, sweet songs to herself. Tunes that echo across mountains, resonate through valleys, and penetrate through souls.
She makes me cry, this little bird.
I’d sacrifice a limb for her. I’d die for her.
There’s a little bird that sings her sweet songs in a forest. Her innocence is what lovers fall for. Her beauty is what poets write of.
who is my father.