The Tale of a Beetle and a Butterfly

The beetle wheels around
Darkly grave
Nimbus-headed
And dung embedded
Lounging in dirty cowsheds.

The butterfly whirs around
Painted gallant
Lightly clad
And airily made
Hardly cooling his fairy feet.

Day over.
The beetle returns happily with a pea of dung.
The butterfly is pleased to sleep in his flower bunk.

RHAPSODY ON A MOONLIT NIGHT

You sing nocturnes.
I melt the moon in hive-broken honey
And drink the potion in the instant's infinity.
I know a sweetness that drives me nuts,
When my loins burn with an wolfish lust.
Don't tell me of a moon-soaked night
I call up the witches out of sight.
Don't tell me of sleeveless women born that night
Who starve me with half a diet.

Funny! I didn't know!!

Jilted students are known to have turned cynical and been serviceable to the faculty. They volunteer to be love sleuths or teachers' confidant(e)s, and shop and snitch on successfuls. Ill-luck hardens them particularly with honesty and candor: they might be relied on to tip you off on secret pairs clandestinely operating in the market at the moment who manage the same tutors together and use their tutorial sessions ('tuteveaux'?) to stay (or live!) together, drawing out the sessions unnecessarily long by quizzing quizzical tutors , thus peacefully, beatifically away from the aping, ogling, curious, nasty public eye (thank heavens!) for at least an hour or more (in case of self-forgetful tutors, much longer!). Should the hapless tutor taunt and tease the female of the pair in the course of the academic sour (that is, the pair's involved tête-à-têtes for an hour) for keeping them from dropping off or from collapsing over each other with camouflaging, side-splitting jokes or from snuggling under cover , the guerrilla gallant might bear bearishly with a dirty laughter but, I swear, not for ever, soon to follow it with, in the name of God, a life-threatening, spine-chilling electronic letter, of course, as afters of the mind-boggling dinner, or as a bill for the price of his laughter from the gutter. Aré baba! Why don't you wear heart-shaped badges so that horny goats or leering sages can take heed and beware? The problem is solved once and for ever!

Crossing

Waiting to cross the road,

While crossing the mind, too,

Stand I negotiating between the two.

Two run parallel,

Two speeding streams equally deceitful,

Hesitant stand I between rule and rule.

I look for a crossroads

Of real and unreal

But there’s no traffic lights that can help.

To the right to the left to the right to the left

Right left right left but to no avail

I stand on the sidewalk refusing to fail.