The Karma Farmer

They say life’s a bowl of cherries

Well that depends on your grocer

You might wanna look a little closer

And see what’s in your bag.

 

There’s a dapper retired old guy

His Christian name is John

Always wears a suit and tie,

But wonders where all his friends have gone..

Unfamiliar faces meet on his street,

Instilling him with fear

Outnumbered by their dark looks,

They don’t belong here.

Where’ve they all come from?

 

What’s it all about?

He thought about it constantly,

Then figured it out,

An alien invasion orchestrated by a hidden hand. 

Turning the country in an alien colony,

Directing hoards of Turkish barbers to invade the land,

All the shops are now Turkish barbers,

And their only customers are other Turkish barbers

He posted his findings on Facebook and got himself banned.

 

He thought and thought and reached a breakthrough,

He remembered something  from the back of his mind,

2012 and the great ascension and Earth splitting into two,

Some people going to a higher reality, and others left behind.

 

He’s sure he must have fallen through the multiverse

While his friends had all reached the photon belt

It surely made sense in a world getting worse,

It seemed insane he knew, but must be right, he felt.

He told AI chat, that he was in the wrong dimension,

And he had to act and get back to his own reality,

As he had missed his chance at the 2012 ascension

The Bot had no answers but plenty of sympathy.

 

Then he realised, after smoking some weed,

It happens at night when we sleep,

The Multiverses melt into each other,

In the dark cosmic mystery of the deep.

 

Maybe the sun anchored everything down with its light

Fixing reality in a blazing glare for a while,

Until without its protection the multiverses melted in the night

And shuffled people around based on their lifestyle.

 

It was like Dante’s circle of hell,

Every day he sank lower,

Deeper down a four dimensional well.

 

But surely if could go down, he thought

He must have the chance to climb back

Retrace his steps the way he had fallen,

And return to England before it all went black.

 

So he became a karma famer thinking, if he tried to be a better person,

He would rise through the multiverse membrane at night

And eventually return to his own world

And everything would be alright.

 

He had no idea how far down he was,

Or how long it might take,

But he had to try.

 

So he tried to help people as best he could,

“Here let me take your hand”

He said to a blind man waiting at the crossing,

“I’ll take yer Focken head,”  

It seemed the world was  fallen, it was hard now to even do good.

 

He started giving money to the homeless layabouts,

Every day he would give a couple of quid here and there, 

Until one day there was a dozen camped outside his Local Tescos

Looking at him with their hands out.

The middle of the night, wading through a London street,

Desperately trying to do a last-minute good deed,

Before the membrane sent him to a world yet closer to hell,

Looking for a beggar to give a fiver to or a fox to give something to eat.

 

He came upon a black huddled form, lying crumpled on the ground,

With a sudden bowlegged surge, it crawled horribly a ghastly sight,

Like a man with recently mended broken legs, but it made no sound,

He could not see his facial features,

Just a low hobbling shadow in the city night.

It seemed more a thing than a man, how to help such a creature?

 

"You want me to find you a taxi mate,"

If he could just get this man home,

Then he could go home and awake to an improved fate.

The thing didn't respond though,

"I say mate, can I get you a taxi?"

His frustration started to grow.

He peered into where the face should be

But saw nothing but blackness,

Even the clothes, if they were even clothes

Were all dark and formless.

Then a cold terror seized him completely,

A form of wrath to terrify,

Fluttering in its blackness,

He realised what it was finally.

It was DEATH.

 

It was time for him to die.

 

“Oioi” “What you doing with that black bin bag?

You lost your wedding ring in there?…”

A black London deus ex taxi-cab appeared.

 

He focussed his eyes on the black form he had so feared,

A quick breeze blew in triumph and the black-bag phantom fluttered like a battle-flag.

 

“You alright mate?”

I’m going home, I’ll drop you off if it’s on my way

Cos I don’t think you’re doing too great,

Call it my good deed for the day.

 

John wondered whether this man had the answers he was looking for

Don’t you sometimes feel the world has literally gone to hell, he asked

The cabbie chuckled, then laughed himself sore,

I’ve always been a punk, a blast from the past,

I never had any illusions about the way things are

Nor any expectations about nothing from day one,

Set your expectations suitably low

So there's no chance of getting let down, so

Just try to laugh at the whole shit show.

 

Might not be much of a philosophy

But it works for me.

 

John’s eyes were opened,

And he was shaken from his delusion,

To the crazy framework he had constructed

The masterpiece of confusion.

 

And although the unfamiliar faces,

The ne’erdo well and useless of all races,

Became more numerous in his town,

He made a point of not letting it get him down.