Looking at lists of things in their aura,
The ordinary man turns common man
In checked shirt , unkempt moustache
Like a neighbor’s cat, on long whiskers
That are less than any ordinary things.
The common man had been dipping
In our blue mornings of bleary eyes
With our milk sachets ,outside door.
Lately he is seen missing from porch.
(R.K.Laxman(92) the creator of the Common Man in a daily cartoon in our newspaper passed this week)
Uncles on green bench talk politics
From newspaper page, aggregates
Of men’s affairs that have no faces.
The little fingers they had held on
Tight for years, before green bench
Are beyond a green sea practising
Greenbacks ,stirring greenest envy
In aggregates ,yet not greenbacked.
Stubby fingers, ringed in knuckles,
Feel dads have right to big picture.
The fingers, now pointed elsewhere
Have no other views in the matter.
Here we have to increase earsize
To hear star’s light on our backs.
Our ears come in standard sizes.
Starlight seems growing dimmer
As desert sun is glowing warmer
On our highly clothed nakedness.
(Watching a fantasy Hindi movie titled P.K.)