Landscapes

How happy can one be? Ofentimes, I wonder aloud, Taking advantage of my creative licence. Let me explain - The filth I encounter in this city: Stinking garbage hills along the sidewalks, Bloody graffiti of betel-nut stains on walls and lampposts, Jellying lumps of bronchial ejaculations On carelessly laid pavements of crowded walkways On which I negotiate my bearing with a grandmaster's moves, A gentleman peeing into a roadside drain, In broad daylight, all the while Looking up at the sky, As if he is criticizing a painting of Michelangelo, Even as his beer color discharge bubbles on Overflowing effluence let out From cesspools of adjoining buildings, A hairless dog licking at a sanitary napkin, Thinking it is a slice of loaf with generous spread Of jam on it, Like the way a chupacabra plays with a helpless lamb Before the fatal bite. I reached my breaking point yesterday, When I saw a shining red car with sparkling windows Pulled up and a hefty plastic shopping bag flew out of it, And landed at the foot of a signpost by a level crossing, Which read - Don't dump rubbish here! And the car rolled away in style. I stood frozen in utter disbelief, While a three legged goat limped in and Began inspecting what was inside the new arrival. I returned home hallucinated and deeply scathed. In the bedroom, I found your black silk stockings Sprawled across the floor. I observed the illusive embroidery on them and sensed A slow storm brewing up in my guts. A precarious yearning suddenly nudged me To touch the blue veins on your ankles. And I felt a minimalist petal of happiness swirling On a gentle breeze in my papery existence, In spite of the revolting landscapes.