Life is like a jack fruit.
He squinted his eyes hard
and looked at life.
At all its intertwined veins
Trying hard to decipher an order.
Hoping with all he is, that he find a reason.
A purpose. A course. An excuse at least.
Life gazed back at him.
Dilated pupils. A blank stare.
Like a paralysed dog. Like an empty well.
Also,
Life is like a jack fruit.
(c) Korou Kh 27-11-09
He chewed on the extinguished butt of his biri
And preached, perched on a banana tree:
There is a proper way to reed a pom.
It is, in itself, an art form.
Make sure you have a pom healthy and fit.
So that its juices are intact when you reed it.
First bend the spikes along the hole, and see
It needs to be done slow and affectionately!
Now hold it by its wings
And run your feet along its hinge.
Then press the switch beside the roe
With your middle or little toe.
A handful of light will then
Erupt from the tip of its pane.
Store it in a jar till it reddens, in fact
An empty bottle of Old Monk will be perfect.
There you have a pom nicely reeded
It will last you another decade.
And if you think you know of a better device
Please, let me convince you otherwise.
(c) Korou Kh 27-11-09
A brief silence.
Music.
Why now?
Yes, I wish I had done it long before.
And all these time, it was all a pretense?
Maybe. But not to you, to myself.
And me? Was I even there in your mind?
You were in my life. In my mind, I wish I knew what is.
You betrayed me!
Reason betrayed me.
A long silence.
(c) Korou Kh 27-11-09
Inspired by a haiku written by Akhu
“See, it's like this..”
she rolled over and faced him
and went on..
“its like fucking with a condom on.
You are not actually fucking me,
technically you are fucking the condom.”
“So, you don't really live in this world.
You are not a part of this meaningless arrangement of things.
This playroom of an amnesiac God with an OCD.
You exist inside your own bubble.
You are a matrix of memories and songs and whispers and nostalgia
floating around inside this bubble.
But of course you interact with the world.
You can still see the aforementioned God at play.
(like I said, fucking with a condom on,
but fucking nonetheless.)
A born spectator.
So sit back and relax.
And don't worry about taking God to a shrink.”
He nods.
Looks at a lump of air somewhere behind her head,
then asks, “and you? where do you live?”
She kept still.
Like a hung up computer.
He waited for her answer.
Still waits.
(c) Korou Kh, 3-11-09
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