The prehensile snout of a Tapir
is  posturally renowned,
but  I am no caricaturist
unless I required Rhinoplasty
Neither am I an
Air Force Major or a Fireman,
never having shot or doused in anger
never clanged quid pro quo,
I am a wordsmith, without  a necessarily  dangerous  course,
a wedgeless door stop this side of juxtaposition,
trying for a profile,
riding on a buzz,
to think so few images
could  conjure so much verdure

A quiet light
slips across the stage
pencil drawings
flipped formed into
anorexic glass
stick figure thin
stacked mimes
only the barking
dogs and whales
could hear it explode
into sonar boom.

My life,
has become a debut
of silent animation
I'm the first of Emile Cohl's
funny faces,
my heart,
a voice whispered
death threat
a French caricaturist
largely forgotten
incoherent
love contortionist
pulsations
of the retina
rapid eye movement
fantasmagorie,
complex shifting sand dollars
and rabid flower images,
they never forget a pretty face.
Sword-fighting fish mouths
gaped like cannons
dancing petals wind borne
missing
milk carton illusions
memories drum
tight like elephants
stuffed into houses
avant-garde
artistic movement
curdling my eyes by hydropathy
baths of incoherent apathy
falling between my brows
like Chinese water torture.

Pictures that are missing you,
that were always missing me
and me, missing the music
of laughter, that love
that turned numb
the earth thumbed green.

Life too a sharp turn
Causing our jungle of dreams to burn
We made so many plans
To witness, in our class,  live Clash of clans
Zoomed in on gossips and zoomed out for a tour of building we have been seeing for last 14 years
Soon the time will come to bid adieu with eyes full of tears
One hundredth piece of chocolate gave us unworldly pleasures
Oh-those-sweet reminisce are etched in our hearts as priceless treasures
Gobbling a pav bhaji filled tiffin with one fourth of each one's share is now a distant memory
Pulling out all stops to get one pattis and samosa was our definition of bravery
Aamchaska and chatarmatar had power to drive out our blues
Trend of lollipops became a strict no-no on the list of don'ts and do's
Bhelpuri, ice cream,  chanajor garam or chuski
All the uncles had different fan base
Our sweet request for extra chutney or cola ice stick
How they fulfilled them all always left us amazed
Morning gossip monger
Isn't a reality any longer
Decorating the black board with fresh pieces of chalks
That mirth was,  Jesus knows what
Fighting over duster with other classes
This year we missed out on all those chances
We made noise,  were shut by teachers
What's app group chats are silent, all thanks to some invisible creatures
" Learn rules like a pro, break them like an artist "
Our 'action plan' was more of a drawing made by caricaturist
Morning assemblies were a snoozefest
Afternoon next-day holiday announcements filled us with new zest
Board decorations or teacher's day preparation
Everyone's train ran on different tracks never arrived at single station
Christmas celebrations or children's day fetes
We oozed oomph in our new dresses
Out of nowhere,  we could see our dreams of living last year of school waver
Every night we sleep with what-the-hell-is-this-wetness tear
Never expected that Guy upstairs to be a scrooge
He snatched our happiness making us his offset stooge
"No still lakes but life demands waterfalls "
Our school journey is a perfect example of it
It is hear , mercurial highs and abysmal lows, did we hit
Myriad of emotions gushing through while I write
It's a miracle how black boards made our lives bright
This school was like our nest
Where little babies were nurtured with the best
Soon we will fly out like free birds up in the sky
No farewells for us please,  we will never say our school a goodbye 😘

African music stars looking calmly
into the blue eyes of beautiful girl,
childhood friend, European
and Asian prostitutes, blue John,
John Lee ******, Sunny Oh, the future
sailor, and a fire in the tent at the University
of Canada by William Thomas Born
worst dog food French French legion

The zeal of the lord of dreams
shall be in the morning, Pharaoh,
The dream of for a memorial,
even Beauty, and to praise the Father,
the family of the decision of his own
life for prostitutes, he adds, that were
harlots, is fallen, of the world. the mind
of a child, many souls on account
of a new game and entertainment
in his own country, and Donecquis
in the Historical Park of the caricaturist
Robert sing and to praise the king of Kenya,
they and the barking of dogs, I will remove
him from their ancients, that is to say,
the police, and now, to the drunkards
of tea in the night, The drunkards
of ***** do Brasil. The Prince of Spain,
well known by the Italians, the nästan
the eastern region of Italy and the hide
of the harlots, are already
dead as are available.