Holding on to the black minute hand,
Of a giant white clock.
Until I can hang on no longer,
When the clock strikes thirty.
A long fall,
But a soft landing,
A carpeted bridge.
On the far end sits,
An old snake charmer.
The bridge is flat,
Much like the Earth.
Under it hang seven chandeliers,
That light the elegant ball below,
Puppets immaculately dressed.
I wear shabby clothes,
I'm ashamed.
'Be aware',
I hear from the corner of my ear.
I look around and finally up.
There is no roof,
Only a clear sky,
With a moon,
Full and bright.
The snake charmer's eyes are round and bright.
The snake charmer's snake,
Slithers towards me.
I grab it by it's tail,
And throw it to the moon,
Where it circles itself around a crater.
It bites it's tail.
An apple falls on my head.
I need to fly,
Fly to the moon.
I look around.
I spot the charmer,
I kill him.
I lift his basket.
I find a pair of wings,
I fly.
BOMB!
ReplyDeleteCONTEMPT!..OH the CONTEMPT
for those plastic denizens of a society..those meat puppets who are overly conscious about the strings that hold them together..who cannot live without being controlled...those who throng the society..those who thrive on and celebrate restrictions and mediocrity...
your desire..the strong desire to think "out and beyond the box"..the easily stimulated reflex to rebel and go against the age-old prejudices and cliches..
Celebration of freedom.longing for the fulfillment of a long accumulated desire.
ALAS!.its all just a dream..and YES..you will dare to dream on!..
go on boy!..love the poem..the feel..the spirit!...
INSANE kudos!.\m/
Yes, everything you said was true. Your interpretation is dead on, BUT, Mahesh, you still haven't interpreted the entire poem. Haha, there's still much more to it. Every line has something to it. It's dylan-esque in a way, haha. Killing the snake charmer is like killing himself. Killing an older part of you and moving on, with what you've learned (wings, from the snake charmer), that actually benefit you in your future, helping you to fly.
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