QUOTA

We all got something left to lift the weight, the time to wait
the space to make the great mistakes
the waste and haste and haystack chasing
pins and needles, stick it in and face the fact,
your race is set, the pace is met, the stage is set
the props is on the rocking chair that sways the beat
the name repeats, the face recedes, the cross is bare,
the hairline fracture in a time-space fractal
I wrote your abstract in Homerun pastels
load this shotgun with pen torch batteries
ram it down your throat like you needed roughage
swimming through your bowels like an unexplored passage
through the time it takes to reach your centre
argument or are you mental?

Are you meant to
be
living in a concrete jungle,
asbestos roofs
and cats on hot takarang
take a quick bite of this
bittersweet naarang
ambarella leaves
and fresh coriander garlands
popping minty fresh verbs
like spinach to a sailor
got the mouth of a marakkala
mark of a Macan Markar
someone me up
with the dome on top of
Galle Face Court 2
you know, the room with a view
the room with an event horizon
the groom with a plus one
and the bride who takes pride
in the prejudice of caste based
specialisation of labour
let the Tamil clean
let the Thambi sing and
let the Malay burger kings
do their thing and charge
an excise duty on the
exercise of civil liberty

beedi beela bulath kamu

Have you met your daily buddha quota?
smokin all that golden leaf bo kola

If I had to write a #selfierap
I'd think twice on that
my frees are loose
learn to tie a noose
in case these fools
come knocking
the day I'll be dropping
the night I'll be stalking
the dawn I'll be donning
the dusk I'll be dust in
the ashes - aghori
creme caffeine is boring
my mind needs exploring,
I'll take your hand through it
you stroke endoneurial fluids
spinal tap that ass
and SMAK the mixed fruit
off your face in a Minute Maid
in the kitchen, your sandwich
wrap reeks of balsamic leakage
you might wanna look up
the meaning of village
cause in this global sphere
we're all kings if we will it
in this causal ocean
we're all queens if we sing it
in this clay pot dream
we're the collective
Fresh Prince of
Mother Earth's
cleavage