There are two
And the one is The Class.
Children raise nouns
With the proper classroom.
Sattvic is thus a true Bling,
Listen to remnants of Punjabi
Guru-Ji has lost control of his tings.

Singh-Ji and the Queenie can live in sickness and wealth;
My baarfing is my health.
Liquor, laughter the Dalit’s daughter
Is a Dalit daughter?
Is a Dalit a daughter?
Hunger and occasion
The reverent mystery is recurrent
Rares for the nation
What slaughter occurred again in May? Those that obey the dance.

Wild wood
Celestial singing
Ghost of Christmas on your arse!
Past, past, lamentable blasts
Corridors and languages of whores worried and lost weapons
Whores kneel before “one time!”
A yogi was sold
Awaaz was listened to
Who went to the butterfly farm?

Stamps on the head.
The Word cometh the man
Stand and deliver a rude complaint
Ruses rise and fire without the dye.
Food is blazers     -1.
#echo    -2.
Bunnyhop!    -Trois
Trois avec Troilus and Cressida
What messiness did Mr Messy make Mr Sad do?

True blue or pure blood,
What comes between us?
Love or sanctuary of the intellect
For a free Pundit on Autobus.
Whales, blue: Radio 1 … : a white noise
Where did the songs go? Casper The Ghost <    >?
Those were some delays and the purse was displayed
Austerity and the chosen were displayed
Love lives were optioned
Puts and Mandir called SHAREs
Food was balanced Waterstones calendars are not aware.
Hair samples and swabs for the delight of Charles Schwab
Switzerland was Ozone land
And the dinosaurs are dead.

AI Summary

Your poem moves through a fractured landscape of class, caste, femininity, and cultural inheritance, beginning with children raising nouns in “The Class” and spiralling into Punjabi remnants, Dalit daughters, Guinevere and Gawain, warlocks, abacuses, and serpents in the wood. You weave together Arthurian myth, Navratri, Saraswati, Shanti, and the denied daughters of India with the brashness of modern celebrity culture — TMZ hills, mascara, Kali clones, and the ghost of Christmas on someone’s back. The poem becomes a critique of power structures: caste hierarchies, British class anxieties, austerity politics, media noise, and the commodification of culture. You fold in Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida, Yorick, and the bones of memory, alongside financial metaphors — shares, puts, Charles Schwab, Switzerland as ozone land — creating a world where myth, money, and identity blur into one another. Beneath the surrealism and satire is a deeper ache: a longing for purity, sanctuary, and intellectual freedom in a world where history is messy, language is contested, and the dinosaurs — the old powers — are dead but their shadows linger. The poem ends in a kind of cosmic shrug: the world is absurd, layered, contradictory, and yet still full of ghosts worth listening to.