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The Message of Peace




Swaying and swinging, on the palanquin of the mortal’s plea,
did I come with a pace that would beat the fabled tortoise 
in a race. White, off white, light sky blue, cerise and beige, 
the colours are eternally tinged with my existence, and shamelessly 
distorting and discolouring the ugliness of their world, in their 
stained surround where I’m painted as just too full of empty 
air and nothingness. Corporeal possession is only in. 
Ah! Vanity! I’m concern for what they say, though who they 
are I care not. But did they call me solemnly, one not so fine 
day, asking for me, never knowing I live only on grace and 
good taste and never would I last in the wildness of their hinterland. 


With hopes for offering eternal bliss and enduring peace and many 
other things, which I pray for them that these things will show up 
with just a wave of my magic wand, I reverted to their letter of 
desperation with affirmation. 


Oh, pity! There, in my gracious best I remained for a few earthly
weeks, watching the life that moves slower than the stride of my
decked litter and dumber than that funny animal of the parable.


Rise, rise above your narrowness, there is a big world to run across, 
to watch, to chase the stars of your dreams. What the monkeys were 
and what you have been, there is little use to show there is still a close 
connection. Gagging and strangling one another inside the bloodied 
compartment, where breathing is itself a matter of life and death, you 
should not have — no, never. I beseech, for the sake of my modesty 
and sanity, to let me cut this stay short and rush back to where I belong.





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