The Great Indian Mustache

a poem by Nishu Mathur, India

Tucked between a flaring nose,and a mouth of sparkling teeth
Lies the great Indian moustache,that men so proudly keep....

It could be black, a distinguished gray,
Even red or white,
The mustache is a mustache,
A rather hairy sight...

It could be but just a start,
All done up with care,
A phase of transition,
A light spurt of hair....

It could be short,neat and trim,
Hitler all the way,
A face that looks rather grim,
All work and little play.

It's a matter of perspective though,
For it could make you grin,
Like the king of old comedies..
Good old Charlie Chaplin...
(He had his moustache,
Pretty pretty neat
His funny little twitches
Had us rolling at his feet).

It could be long, thick and dense,
A rather curious trend,
Resting on cushioned cheeks,
And curling at the ends.

It could of course, change its course
And head down the chin,
Grow long and lustrous,
Like Osama Bin's...
A rather curious one
I think that I do see
Is a blob on the chin,
A beard called the goatee.

Or like a little boy's hair,
It could part in the middle,
All prim and proper,
As fit as a fiddle..

Rather useful, I would say,
For morsels and little treats,
Tuck them in the whiskers,
Then later have a feast...

''A sign of virility'', is what men would have to say,
They'd bet on their manhood, I guess, any day,
But what makes a man a man,I think, is still kind of gray...
For clean shaven men,my mustached friends,are now here to stay.

A tribute to Delhi's 100 years-indulgent ramblings
Rangoli, ( an Indian folk art)

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