( 'don't worry, be happy' )


Suicidal tendencies?
thoughts like these
disrupt communication
alienate you from the
general population
and end up with you
being wheeled into
a private sanitarium
or even worse
a council
crematorium.

I never think like this
and while life's not
always
a bunch of bliss
I'd rather have a punch
on the nose
than suicidal thoughts
like those

and who knows how it
would have turned out

if only you'd hung about
to find out
and now you'll never know.

======================================

I like the spices in your new song
That jumps in an expected direction
To teach our tongue to be so long
I will keep it in my musical collection

We can attempt to see connection
How friendly elephants never forget ?
Don't turn away when we need protection
Our worthy life is to credit never to debt

But, be sure , snowman will melt one day
So be true to your thinking, hat, and gloves
That day may be Sunday but not a fun day
So try to be the star, the whole world loves

Jasmine draws my eyes on the highest tree
So that, nothing can be kept hidden from me
I can watch over you, Earth, Sky, and sea
Now ask God what is left for me, yet to see

~~~Jawahar Gupta~~~


P.S...My granddaughter , Jasmine, She has written, Oh my kind grandpa, I've drawn your eyes on the tall
branches of the trees

We're only tourists
here for a visit
on a one way ticket
and now they're
punching it

it's not ******* fair.

I never asked for short stay
I wanted long term.

Visa expired
as I will be
soon
but we're all only tourists
here for a day.

chalk outline
seperation Of cigarette ashes

wet tar, broken glass.
wine stained wedding dress
Playing paper towel commercial
Soaks up all the rosey in her cheeks

When the thud was heard for miles
She didn't **** herself.
Simply tossed her dress
out the hotel window.
at a crime scene

It was some other *******
Who covered it with caution tape.

My younger brother still fishes
when he can, when the weather
is agreeable, when he can afford
some tackle and beer for the cooler.

He sits alone on the river bank
and smokes and drinks and waits
in the shifting shade of cottonwoods
for the unmistakable pull on the line.

He fishes whether
the fish are biting
or not. He is intimate with
psychology and the placid
deceit of undisturbed water.

My brother is an angry man.

As kids, we fished
together on the dock
and killed them
with our hands.

Careful not to kneel
on scattered hooks,
we baited the lines
on our knees a foot
above brackish water.

We dropped fish heads
off the edge of the dock
and watched them float
down, almost out of sight,
settling into final stillness
only to snap back to life
(or the false throes of death)
by the white claws of *****
picking them into oblivion—
goodbye eyes,
goodbye gills,
goodbye teeth,
goodbye scales.

Brother, I don’t remember anymore:
was it triumph or merely shame
that left us shivering in the sun?