Our country/earth which is of YOUR size
Notre terre qui est à Votre taille Forgive us please our enormous bilious hubris The quasar-lit heavens smile only down upon us For Our Master he presideth over the Universe Our Architect-Father he beds down in the blackest holes Our temple bells and lodges’ knell toll only for Thee While Thou slips from one parallel universe to another Yeah, notre terre qui est à Votre taille The muezzin’s cry reaches far into the darkest cloud From turret to galactic turret resounds the prophetic call Colliding antennae make a murky Baghdad morass The fallout heralds the bigcrunchy messianic massage Our Master who art the shine on the Brahmin’s head Which knows no limbs feet chest nor shivering loins Forgive us our cowering at the spewing Purusha mouth For Thine is the thunder exploding forever and ever Did not a bodhi prince once keep a damning silence He saw no need to undo Thy mighty male tie Lest he’s forced to traverse this soil again in rags Notre terre qui est à Votre taille As for the other fully bearded nodding mates They are those who first invoked Thy game They’ve now bought the world over in Thy name But prefer to run the banks ‘ere Thou cutteth the rates Notre terre qui est à Votre taille Is the epicentre of the roiling boiling might Where domes echo for the right to languish at Thy side And watch the Goya geek chew the heathen to shreds Notre terre qui est à Votre taille All the stars you see out there in the ever-ever Are but the conjurer’s balls dancing up in the air The illusory waking dream of the never-never Notre terre qui est à Votre taille Give us every day the fireworks in the sky For Thine is the show and ours the joy For ever and ever spinning a lie ! T.Wignesan, November 3, 1997, Fresnes-Paris (Rev. 2012, Paris) From: T. Wignesan Copyright ©: T. Wignesan, rev. November 3, 1997 (from the collection: longhand notes (a binding of poems), 1999.