Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

the gentle giant


They poured buckets of icy water over him,
drenched his body with steaming hot soup curry,
added pinches of sea salt on his lips,
tickled his eardrum with feckless strokes of bird
feather,
left an army of red ant on his body to wander,
tonsured his scalp of thick curls of hair,
pushed and probed his flesh with red hot pokers of
wood,
ignited a plethora of wax candle on his chest,
fed hollow regions of his eardrum with a cluster of
stinging jungle mosquito,
lambasted him brutal strokes of the snake leather
whip,
shouted at deafening voices, beating hands in despair
on his flabby chest,
as the unscrupulous giant slept in tranquil peace,
unperturbed by the thunderous commotion stabbing
umpteenth parts of his body.

He had been cast a spell by the goddess of sleep,
To lie dormant for centuries till he existed,
Unfazed by all power on earth,
There was not a soul who could wake him up from sleep.

That's when they executed the following on sudden
impulse,
they laid a drum of cooked sweets beside him,
Appetizing fruit juice filled in transparent jars,
Cooked morsels of fish and rice at his feet,
Round pancakes with frosty butter sandwiched in his
hands,
they poured a river of pure honey on his belly,
Placed an ornate plate of sizzling turkey caressing
his demon lips.

The metamorphosis that occurred placed us in enigma,
Torrential snores of the giant were now being
disrupted,
The heavenly aroma of food had thoroughly tickled
Cupid zones of his
heart,
The smell of boiled toffee exploited his penchant for
sweets,
He flinched a couple of times before regaining
wholesome consciousness,
And when he stood upright, it was an astounding sight
for one to witness,
He stood 100 feet tall, with a long hair cascading
down his nape,
The GENTLE GIANT now ate the food with gusto,
Devouring occasionally mouthfuls of juice,
Quenching his thirst for the agonizing period of
sleep.

Submitted: Monday, August 18, 2014

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