We may have to explain everything
Including ourselves, in deep throat
And funny flesh fails to work bones
Towards their theory of everything.

Deep throat bursts loud and hoarse
Not like a cuckoo over coming rain.
We have to explain deep sky’s holes
Black like particles of a cuckoo rain.

Cuckoo’s rain bursts in deep throat
If there is no rain on the Asoka tree.
We have to explain the black holes
In windy spaces of its upper foliage.

We need our theory to explain how
All our everything fits in a nothing
And why time that began with bang
Always ends up in a sky’s pot holes.

(after watching the Stephen Hawking biopic The Theory of Everything)