Shaven Scalps

As i shaved corrugated exteriors of the deodar tree,
the palpable object of wood shivered incessantly all frosty night.

when i shaved the skin of rustic African leopard,
he was left behind with a conglomerate of bones and naked flesh,
assassinating buoyant traces of pride nestling in infinite parts of his body.

when i shaved the thorny skin of juicy pineapple,
ripping the fruit into triangular halves with my butcher knife,
appetizing slices of nutrition lay lifeless for me to consume.

when i shaved hectares of paint sticking to house walls,
savagely rubbed every iota of polish with crystal sandpaper,
the structure resembled a morbid mortuary devoid of sparks of color.

when i shaved the gaudy black skin from tinted car glass,
punctured its doors with grey lead flying haphazardly from my pistol,
the sedan appeared as if donated in charity,
fresh from the dilapidated domains of the village junkyard.

when i shaved the transparent skin of electric bulb of light,
severed the dainty filaments of voltage inside,
the contrivance resembled soft yellow pulp of rotten mango.

when i shaved ornately sculptured skin of oyster shell,
evacuated frugal amounts of saline water trapped inside,
impeccable pearls of brilliant white bounced in my awaiting palms.

when i shaved chunks of hair from the human scalp,
scrubbed it hard with a concoction of oil and perfume till it shone,
engraved it with mystical scriptures portraying the ancient era,
the bald dome looked strikingly similar to,
sparkling idols of God assembled in the tranquil golden light of the Temple.


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