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Poem	(for matt – 15) in the first seven years you choose your howdah having by then bare inklings of a journey but where or why - confusion there to cloud a judgement no more ready than a sore knee to enter the lists of a whole life’s tourney - but after this howdah-do (this introduction) what’s to carry you where - from muddy fluxion and glimpsing that a howdah does for two (from seven years on the stirrings can be frantic) you start to map the high ride (define the view) and long for gilt and pomp (a touch of tantric) relationships at best quite sycophantic you dream of elephants clad in rich brocades ideas to match your own fanfaronades at fifteen then you’re really setting out the sun’s dressed up to let you think life’s bright your flag’s up front to give you extra clout the chores are borne below (and out of sight) you’ve made a noon of every slinking midnight the continent is yours (let no one mock it) yours the wheel to which all else a sprocket in sri lanka in the kandy perahera every august in a festival procession an elephant richly dressed (the stately bearer) carries on its back in howdah-fashion a casket (such the grandeur of its mission)) in which the buddha’s sacred tooth’s enshrined an image that your journey brings to mind that tooth’s the root of all deep human struggle and life for each proceeds by that shrined truth which (clearly seen) yet causes thought to boggle in what dimension lies the total proof that that enamelled shard is all-wise tooth and not a figment of the brain’s rash wish to puff dull want as in a cloud of hashish old tooth (your truth) life’s slow (but rushing) voyage that lonely cavalcade that buzzing dreams spell out towards elusive man but keep you in your boy-age a noble sense of self impugned by doubt and yet (inside you caged) a regal shout pomp should be there to honour your advancement and you are right to sip from that entrancement then be that casket the buddha’s tooth ennobles have that howdah’s view of how dah world grows choose your elephant well to ride your troubles (let flag and rich brocade shine through such woes) what others think can’t hurt what your heart knows it’s a bumpy business this festive spirit’s trek a well-sprung joy best cushion for your neck
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