As Sala malai kum

Hash bang then it's onto the tarot.

Radgi sitting on tightropes,

over his constellation of thoughts,

past, present, future.

Hanif takes vision from the bucket,

choking wide eyed,

as Bob jams away in the stratosphere,

with reggae lucidity.

This stretches as far as my tea cup and the

one mouthful left,

it's taste now staining the tongue,

as Mono (real name) looks on –

his eyes following the mood.

He’s mute but makes easy sense of communication.

“Who needs sound and voice?”

Ann responds for Glasgow.

"Who's making tea?"

Bangladesh meets Keswick

for peace tokes and divination,

while Ra beams half life, half light

into a quarter of the room.

The fake palms elaborate a collection of dust,

illuminated green, while

the other three quarters chill in the shade.

"As sala malai kum."

Everyone nods and replies:

“Wali Com a Salam.”