OM MANI PADMA HUM

Whispering sound
of those nearly shaven headed lamas
could not allow me
not to resume
my wild imagination
and my not so wild inspiration.

Not a single mark
of unwanted hair on the face
and the wanted ones
not to be kept in layers.
Om mani padma hum,
Om mani padma hum,
Om mani padma hum.

The chanting was
as furious as
the color of their clothes.
Red in color
but green in mood
the clothes
every inch of it.
Some with boomer
in their mouth
and hard English rocks
in their heart
clinging to the religious future
as told by
doma chewing seniors.
Red their lips
and red their clothes
pampered hips
and voyeuristic blows.
Om mani padma hum,
Om mani padma hum,
Om mani padma hum.

Nothing short of imagination
and the ability of reproduction.
Non claiming fatherhood
and still green in mood.
Om mani padma hum,
Om mani padma hum,
Om mani padma hum.

(Exam duty 2nd October 2000
9 to 12 AM in MPH)