Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
When i molded long strands of my hair into slender curls,
fastening them with strings of sticky elastic rubber,
with infinite fibers of black cascading down like a fountain,
my manly exteriors transited to those of a daintily adorned teenage girl.
when i submerged the wild mass of my hair in an exact liter of coriander oil,
they slept in tranquil contentment on glistening regions of my scalp,
refraining to budge an inch in stormy sheets of inclement weather,
dying a disdainful death without savoring the true taste of life.
when i sheared bulky loads of my hair with a pair of pocket jacknife,
rustic pathces of my scalp potrayed an alien look,
the humming bees sung merrily on the barren islands,
my head now resembled polished briquette's of coal; sprawled with white powder.
when i camouflaged my scalp with beads of pure silver,
adhering sedately to rudimentary bits of yellow gold,
it appeared as if possesed a dungeon of riches,
with parasitic individuals of the society pilfering through my house of bare brick.
when i tonsured my skull completely of hair,
gently plucking the last bits of floss with my knotted fingers,
my scalp got scorched in acerbic rays of the Sun,
sparkling a pure ivory white in resplendent beams of the moon,
i was a grotesque sight to stare; as people offended me with pools of ludicrous laughter.
when i parted my hair in exact equal halves,
sprinkling the central rift with pinches of crimson vermilion powder,
riveting braids of scented flower with scrupulous proficiency,
i looked strikingly similar to the traditionally living indian women.
and when i finally combed my hair with casual strokes of the serrated brush,
splashing jagged stubs of my beard with revitalizing cologne,
kneading my hair vigorously with piquant extracts of blue whale fish,
i could be sighted unanimously by one and all; as a truly authentic volatile man.
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