Featherlight

Oh! I find typing about wisdom too taxing now.
It has gotten too boring.
To my utter surprise I realise,
the universe does not give a shit.
The universe seems to posses a joint,
The life of universe, it seems, is lit.

I travelled across time and spaces.
Age old battlefields, trampled down streaking in caked mud caked blood, faces.
It was horrible, the women were wailing.
Hundreds years passed by and it was all gone.
The universe still settled in its zen and it's joint,
And I feel it tells me, silly child, play, go on.

Hence my temples ache from the burden of being wise now.
My eyes droop in sleep at the first sign of misery.
Yeah yeah, rain rhymes with pain, so what?
Another tale of good over evil, what is there to gain?

So I rest my insidious energies today,
and maybe for a long long time.
So I let my eyes wander today, and I notice people in the mundane.
Not heroic, not horrific. I see no crushing losses and I see no elevating victories.
I see mundane.
And a pair of fine, jeans clad legs.
Sharp, like mirchi.
Piece of fine, jeans clad ass.
Ripe, as nothing else but an ass.
I hear the lazy, raspy accent from UP in a German carriage supported twenty metres from concrete.
I see humans working for ten year old stories to drink beer and to eat.

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