What winds are you listening to, Forrest-Gump-runner? When here I am, steering Seagull Sea; swift in rudder! My crops are beating your harvests, way-slay ‘bumper’? Go ahead, pick my rye, spread on bread – rank butter? I can sense you, although you think you are undercover, An okra-chakra competes not with common cucumber! Here is the moon, and it’s not yet even in deep slumber, Yet you aim for the milkmaid; not the cow’s rich udder? Play me some soothing sax jazz, dismiss this drummer! Let’s stay cool; yes, it’s winter, not a sultry hot summer, Why be dreary? Is it, for you, a King’s very last supper? Tell me; I can serve ‘dum biriyani’ or sass a poet’s dinner! Dear Lord, must I listen to tales of stale ale and the fibber? When my lightning still strikes, why do friend-fans stutter? Pray, don’t tell me, it’s fear of my femi-Mars-nine thunder! Hello, have you not heard of the ‘old trucker and his tucker? What? You still want to hit the bullseye; be a firing gunner? The Sisters I know will definitely ditch you in the dirty gutter, Of what use will it be then; for you to call a witty plumber? Trust me you can be a common porter or a golf-stunt putter, Above us all, the same blue or grey sky will always hover, And, you want to wear the crown of a wily, astute shunter? Even doors can be closed and the windows, bet on the shutter! Do relax, have a long, healthy, calm, and peaceful slumber! I’m going to be a quick, brown fox that can knit a jumper! What is a word’s worth of daffodils to my four-leaf clover? If Lincoln’s dead and gone, Vampire’s ill; a Blood-Sucker’? It never ceases to make my ticking, brilliant mind wonder, What are limber, plunger, and a number, rougher? Rubber?
MIND RUNS – Paullyn Sidhu
