Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet
144,213 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.