On Laughter: A sonnet.

I am serving laughter

come now not after.

Whoever you are come sit around

these sensations and sound

that makes the heart rejoice

through the summoning of my voice.

Let me tell you of my joy and woes

I have nothing to lose.

And all of them sat at my feet

their shining eyes anticipation greet.

Thus I spoke and thus broke a chorus of laughter

so thunderous it shook the rafter

They left and I all alone sat weeping after.

Almsgiving

Have you seen a sick child cry?

All fretted and hungry

the helpless mother’s bosom spent–

I feel the hunger- I feel the lack.

The street family cast in the cold

ebbing to obscurity in the parks—

I feel the neglect – the stinging cold.

A blind man overtakes me

How does he know there’s a turn there?

Should I help him on his way?–

I am in the darkness- lost.

The amputee on the pavement

Doesn’t move with his bowl from the sun

Waiting on almsgiving passersby —

I feel the scorch-the despair.

The need of help is eternal

Suffering in every corner

I go by feeling it all

Without sufficient alms

to balm all the pain

Feeling too much of life to bear living it

I walk the streets downcast and heavy hearted

Having inspected my empty pockets

I avoid eye contact with beggars.

Feeding the birds.

I scavenged the farms

Where people had reaped

Collecting measly grains

To feed the birds

Two doves came down

Lovers perhaps

Every morning ate the grains

And water did drink

Only one dove came yesterday

Did they have a quarrel?

Often lovers do

Brooding eggs perhaps

A whole flight came today

She’d gone to call the rest

I emptied my barn

Poured out the jars

Feeding the birds

Roadside Tavern

The nomads of this world

Say that the well-kept homes

Are tombs for the living

They ramble on

Come and go easy

Stopping now and then  at the roadside tavern

The rusty roadside tavern

Where big roaches roam the tables

Where despising rats ran over feet

Where disheveled wanderers perish

In wine and cold floors

Like an oblivious child at play

They await their perdition

At the abysmal dark roadside tavern

Where dreams go to die.

The ones who survive this tavern

Are found at the end of the road

Where the clouds meets the horizon

Lying skywards musing

And crooning their death song—

O beloved

It is thrice as cold tonight

The sky is as beautiful as your soul

And the ground as dark as my heart.    

___________________________Illustration: Café Terrace at Night by Van Gogh