The Underdog's Prayer

The Underdog's Prayer


God you granted me a tail-bone
To sit on and sit-

But here I go to wag it
With all my residual strength.

I wouldn't of course,
If left alone to source-
But I must fear my work
Extracted by Turks
Will turn into flowing waste.

I'd see it all blown
Down the drain, its flown
Shown dry-
Like unshut taps.

So Lord, who's been so clever
Admiration, and my compliments-

You've kindly allowed for an inch or two of movement-
Would've wanted to give us wiggle-room-
But for expansion, not escape-
It's very good sound tailoring-

But there's no way I can
Take any measures of my own
Because I can't plumb
The bottom or the top
Clever-
You must want it that way...

But here in my head,
The sirens of frustration
Sing out in morning harmony-

From a humming now, to a rumble then
Their perfectly inane cacophony.

Then you God Sahab, you must like inspecting your men-
And managing them so very well,

But I mere mortal will have to unionise-
And make surety sure I don't slip.

Knowing of course
There's nothing casual about leave
And sickness is most unwelcome!

But privileges to yon yonder world
Are only voluntary for you and the dear departed
O God.

So pay me right here right now,
Throw some gold down here
O mighty God
Up there.

You who contracted my birth-
Owe me.

(My mother gave in
To your sweet will
And popped me out like a pill).

But biggish mortals in those heavy chairs
Don't give a damn about me-
Small I am-
But sometime here-
I wonder whether they know I'm there
Or am I just imagining it!

But that makes two of you,
God, and them over there,
Who've forgotten all about me
In different ways.

But Sir, you could,with a flick of your wrist-
It would tell your angel there-

So just requisition a fat bonus
Just cash, not kind-
I have absolutely no mind-
For metaphor.

And before I go, O God above,
Close in on my boss-
Lean on him-

There's more to life than
Incessant cooing,cooing-
And coughing from his cigar-

Coz he's no dove!
O God above
So turn him over please-

Butter his arse
To harps and harps
And winged women attendants

Just so long you make him think
Tossing him whatever nods and winks
That you God love him still.

But just when his sump
Is ready to jump
Slide the bum
To Hades' hump.


1st August, 2009
Gautam Mukherjee