The poetess writes from a tall pole.
She feels there is someone behind
Who is always making funny faces
Our alphabet is trying to fix a face
Beyond reality of a common seeing
A knowledge that is a state of blur.
This boy in yellow knowlege robes
Makes faces at our cumulated folly
As we are giving alphabet to baby.
His pantomimic face riles our folly
The way he distorts reality of baby,
The way he debunks all knowledge.