Conch, Conjure

They commodified you
in Modern Times,
as Chaplin mimes,
to ignorant fools
en masse.

A la carte
is how you are
served, fate
on a silver
platter, feet
dancing to
the clatter,
pitter, patter.

Peter Parkers
don’t find the
time to be

And Mary Jane
too caught up
in the womb
of Mother
Earth, or
a spider’s

You commodified me,
in 2001: A Space Odyssey,
did you notice the tablet screen
iPad? I thought I saw a
tabula rasa?

Selling spirits
on the rocks,
gal arrakku,
they will
call it.

coiled and
recoiled, they
will reconcile
you, not before
ridiculing you.

I commodified my Self
when I turned ink
from pen, to words
from mind, mind you,
not, no, thank you,
but I digress,
my moral compass
never points to it –

Words from time-
immemorial, symbols
of continuous lines,
hand-drawn in the
sand, kolam, swastik,
flower of life.

Conch, conjure
soul eruption,
through feet
to head,
let not blood
be shed.


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