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

The poem moves through fractured belonging — classrooms, caste, hunger, corridors, ghosts, yogis, and winter woods all merging into a landscape where identity feels contested and unstable. It wrestles with shame, reverence, violence, austerity, and the strange theatre of English and Punjabi inheritance, where food, language, and memory become battlegrounds of meaning. The speaker confronts caste wounds, cultural echoes, literary ghosts, and the collapse of public knowledge, searching for sanctuary in intellect, love, or the remnants of spiritual lineage. In the end, the poem reaches toward inner sanctuary — a hope that beneath austerity, caste echoes, and the dead dinosaurs of history, something whole might still be found in the self’s quiet centre.