Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet

144,899 poems read

If i lived in a house blended with ripened banana, 

clusters of the fresh green fruit extruding in abundance from the roof, 

i wouldn't have to cook my meal; surviving handsomely on slices of sugary white pulp.


if i resided in a house made of invincible steel bereft of corrugations, 

and the beds being of molten iron curry, 

i would seldom fall into bouts of sleep; roaming around wildly in sheer insomnia.


if i dwelt in a house impregnated with fearsome alligator skin, 

bold premonitions of the monster encroaching would nictitate in my mind, 

prompting me to sweat even in the freezing winter night.


if i occupied a house painted with cow dung plaster, 

with fresh cakes of goat manure adhered to the floor, 

the preposterous stench would suffocate me to unwarranted death.


if i slept in a house made of articulate time pieces, 

the needle hands ticking in obstreperous unison, 

i would continue to inhabit this earth with a niggling consciousness of evanescent  time.


if i occupied a house with symmetrical holes in the roof, 

with barren spaces impersonating clerestory windows, 

water would cascade down torrentially in the monsoon, 

transforming my abode into a sea of fresh liquid.


if i established my entity in a house juxtaposed with slabs of yellow gold, 

also an incessant cascade of sparkling silver from the tall roof, 

i would be sure of wasting the remainder of my life counting the affluence i possessed.


and if by chance i procured a house in sacrosanct realms of heaven, 

with fairy god mothers flying around, 

the philanthropic personality of almighty ready to converse with me all day, 

i would consider myself as someone blessed with the most cherishable house of all.

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