Treasure Island

Hardik Vaidya

(26 Dec 1969, I won't be dead till you know I am alive. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)


He appears when he wants to.
He chooses what he fancies.
He is a king and a pauper.
One night is spent under an Audi,
The other under a Wagon R.
Sunrise is when he wakes up,
And the Milkmen bow to his might.
There are days he waits for me
There are days where he treats me as if I were dead
I am left holding the raw eggs, while he roams the kingdom of mad.
Pious Jains buy milk from the Milkmen, and leave delivery instructions.
One pouch to be emptied at the bowl for him to drink Cow Beer.
Often I see more water, less milk, and often I see the bowl empty.
I used it to crack the raw eggs, and he used it to feast lustily.
The Jains thought I was corrupting his soul, they took away the bowl,
I therefore decided to place another, a disposable bowl of the devils dole.
I was away for a good 3 months, and we both had forgotten each other.
One evening when back I chanced to see him loiter,
He had a habit to play with the kids, and bathe in radiating energy.
I called at him, he looked at me, like me he was dumb at seeing
He sniffed at me from far away, and perhaps found a symphony
Came jumping to me and was all over as if he were a Mayan
As if he believed I went to the real world and the world did end
He could not believe I was back, the dumb man with raw eggs
I know this mutt, whom I call buds
And God knows what names he calls me
He doesn't care a damn, never pretends
It is not about the eggs, nor about the bowl
His liking for me is because of the smell of my soul
One kid standing by asked with her wide eyes
Uncle is this your doggy
I did not wish to say the truth
I did not wish to tell a lie
It wouldn't have mattered to Buds who was sniffing at my shoes
I said Narahava Kunja Rahava.

Submitted: Saturday, January 26, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Bholenath is the name of the street dog who lives in my society.

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