I went to the docs for a blood test; routine
That morning I’d been on the weighing machine
So I knew my weight and my height… give or take
(And, okay, I don’t look a lot like a rake)
He asked me my height and he asked me my weight
Which I may not have known on an earlier date
I said, “Five-eleven and fifteen stone-ish,”
Then thought I’d impress him… “I eat lots of fish.”
But he shook his head with a quiet, “Tutt tutt”
As I sat and stared at the size of his gut
He told me that I ought to lose excess weight
I just had to say, “Are you serious, Mate?”
I think that upset him, for that’s when he said,
“Male, sixty-five? Hop up on the bed…”
Through dry lips I muttered, “O, heavens above.”
He said, “This won’t hurt,” and he slipped on a glove…
-Subash Khanal
An addicted time
After the murder of God
Got hid and fled from here
No one got him
This is explained as his hiding
Then he is not seen
And will hardly be seen
Some outdated people
Gathering the false evidences
Says- 'God was not killed'
-'He is in our soul.'
They are liars in every way
The reason- we have no soul
The soul is in weighing machine
And getting exchange rate
With price tag of the capitalist market.
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