The Immortal

they cremated Him,
His dark glasses,
His yellow shawl,
His golden ring, and His pen.

that lowly thing
survived
the cleansing Flame
the Rituals
the crowds.
someone
separated it from The Holy Ash
and disposed it
with other plastic
on The Beach.

a ragpicker
sold it to The Bhai
who knew a scam
when He saw one.

The Bhai sold it
as The pen.

but The Scam
turned into The Snake
that bit Its Tail
and The Bhai
went to The Beach
set sail on a paper-boat
to a foreign paradise.

the pen was just a pen
but The Stuff it wrote
oh It could Write.

The Ruler heard about it.
"yeh kalam (this pen)!" he growled with displeasure.
a nip-n-tuck artiste gave his blind support.
"pottikkoo ee kalam (break this pot)!"

if this was a fabulous myth
to be heard from era to era
pens would be born
from a pen and so on but
"a pen is a pen is,"
a freud did repress.

what became of a pen
is irrelevant, though
not The Holy Ghost
it released.

how They chased
That Idea
across deserts, badlands, cowdung pits,
palaces, slums,
radio towers, bits, bytes, clouds,
They caught It,
Thrashed It,
Lynched It,
Shaved It,
Stripped It,
Raped It,
in that order.
"Conform or die!"
They orgasmed.

The Immortal died.

not the first not the last.