Many roots feed a few stems

There was a royal feast in a Royal

Kingdom

As it did happen in every kingdom.

The guests had come to seat

From the boring toil-less rest

The time the mass returned to rest

After their day-full toils.

Ladies and gentlemen were ripe or over

ripe,

Who had come as lords and madams

With affluence sprinkling all over.

Party is on, song ascending;

Drums beat, light pouring.

Ladies emit fragrance.

Lords emit odour of wine.

They shuffle themselves

And settle in suitable pairs.

Pairs sink in song waves,

Faces showing joy, no sorrow,

With no worry for the marrow.

The lights dimming in gradation,

Ladies shed shyness to fall

On the arms of waiting souls.

Each man props as steal,

Holds as wood,

The partner’s face on his shoulders,

Both playing secret games.

When the blue light dies

Each one sucks from the other

The juice of life.

Darkness surrounds.

The toils are in progress as the night

extends.

The toils of ladies and lords cease

At dawn of the day, the time

The toils of the mass set to begin.

Many work, a few suck, it’s society.

29.08.2002