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 gone? Casper The Ghost ?

Those were some delays of 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 begins with the two who become one Class, children raising nouns in proper classrooms while Sattvic becomes bling and Punjabi remnants scatter as Guru‑Ji loses control of his tings, Singh‑Ji and the Queenie living in sickness and wealth while your own baarfing becomes health, Dalit daughters questioned into existence, hunger and occasion circling the recurrent reverent mystery, the nation’s rare offerings shadowed by May’s slaughter and the dance of obedience; wild wood and celestial singing crash into a Ghost of Christmas on your arse, corridors of whores and lost weapons kneeling before “one time,” a yogi sold, an awaaz overheard, a butterfly farm forgotten, stamps on heads, the Word arriving with the man who stands and delivers rude complaint as ruses rise without dye, food becomes blazers, echo becomes minus two, bunnyhop becomes trois, Troilus and Cressida spill into Mr Messy and Mr Sad, true blue and pure blood asking what comes between us — love or sanctuary of intellect for a free pundit on an autobus — whales blue on Radio 1 dissolving into white noise, Casper the Ghost haunting the missing songs, delays of purse and displays of austerity, chosen lives optioned, puts and Mandir called shares, Waterstones calendars unaware of balanced food, hair samples and swabs for Charles Schwab, Switzerland as ozone land, and the dinosaurs dead — a whole architecture of class pressure, cultural distortion, and history’s fractures compressed into one breath that refuses to bow to any hierarchy, linguistic or political.