Inspired by muse and of course poesy
When my cohorts scratch my back
we start fun and speak goddamn bullshit
I get turned on
As I inspect whether the cuckoo pwned me and horned me
When my spouse kicks my ass
To make me squeal about my flings
I feel a stinging pain in my behind and try hold my tongue
And roll on the floor in a freeballing twirl
And feel world's heat in my posteriors
The saucy tart slaps me tight
My follies did include the worst prank
Those who lost their nuts
got undressed and wore their horns proper
Getting ready for the first flash of mooning
The bastards who ask for their MILk land
Would be taken to our poet's den
And served parippuvada†
And called "darlings"
Then they would be patted on the breasts.
Without fear and trembling
They would turn red, falling for the mom.
In the end we would all wear horns
Cuckolds and cockroaches eat stale meat
A wannabee പു ക സ poem_________________
†parippuvada പരിപ്പുവട is a spicy comfort food item
V K N, an arch-knave of Malayalam bawdy literature vaguely hints that this comfort food could turn very uncomfortable in certain situations. The following couplet in one of his notorious novelettes called Hajiar, is a sublimation of parippuvada.
ചെക്കനിക്കു പരിപ്പുവട കൊടുക്കല്ലേ മക്കാനിക്കാ
Later I chanced upon the poet's own translation of the poem called Motherland on the poet's website. I would call this a മുട്ടായിവെടിക്കവിത (sugar-candy-gunfire poem). The mix of sickeningly sugary sentiments and horror and gore is typical of a pathetic sensibility made to order according to party dictates. The poet is a pathetic addition to the flock of revolutionary (à la CPI(M)) poets.