A lost cause

A whiff of a moist laugh,
a slinky whip of a tongue,
Came forward a strand of hair,
curled up on a crumpled sheet.
Lay peacefully a quiet slumber,
that dreams a burning portrait!
Sucked into a dark hollow,
resting in peace so divine,
A flying slash of crimson,
and a twisted yellow noodle.
A thin wall of distance,
and you are far away from me,
drifting away into your world,
a world devoid of evil,
and a world devoid of me!

The bouquet of beauty

In full bloom, they arrived at my doorstep.
A lovely sight, with their pouted mouths,
and their adorable purple snobbishness.
Streaked with seductive hues and freshness,
assembled in succulent foliage, they smiled.
And I swear one of them batted her eyelids!

Sent as a mark of remembrance, and apology,
they seemed not worthy of being unforgiven.
The surging life in their delicate being,
just a reminder of the rotting corpse within.
And the dew set upon their dainty petals,
similar to the growing mist in my watching eyes.


Only love could prompt their onerous journey,
and love could embrace their fresh fragrance.
A pang in my heart, as I recall the past.
And my silliness, wasted on their resplendence.
I bent down on one knee, and bowed my head;
and muttered a sad apology to beauty and peace.

Fatigue

An exhaustion tip-toes without a sound,
as the bells of numbness clang aloud.
A flicker of freshness amidst the mildew,
and a growing urge to double-up and cry.
The pain of enervation is more than skin-deep,
the way it clings to you, refusing to let go.
With determination it gnaws at your wakefulness,
threatening to toss you into a sweet slumber.
And then again, a reason to stay awake.
Once again, a compromise too tempting.
A sacrifice made, in the soundest of sleep,
just to finish this business of a life.

Waiting

A thousand breaths that came and went,
A frustration that calmly jogged along,
a flower bloomed, and wilted to death,
and then a few footsteps nudged me hard.
A lonely glance perched upon some hope,
and a silent spring of anticipation.
A stoic wait that lasted an eternity,
and a promise that was never redeemed,
For you, O latecomer, I shall wait.
And wait as long as you live.

And once you die, I shall shed a tear,
and walk the same paths as you,
and I shall hope to see you around.
Sometime.

Flames

A splash of a deathly hue in vain,
and the sleek sickle played too foul,
as it met innocence's throbbing vein.
A cry of desperation lit up the walls,
and a portrait of disdain shone!
I placed a hand before the brightness,
and darkness danced on the curtain of light!
A slow trance, like a feather, fell,
and silence roared in its highest tenor!

He stood there flocked by contemplation,
and a burning heart in his broad chest.
And yet, while his heart got roasted,
he endured the pain. Only to burn his life away.

Why did he not give up the blazing heart?
Why did he throw his life to the flames?
A cupful of errors and it all boiled over,
and leaped to the heart of eternal light.

The friend

A strange sparkle in her brown eyes,
and a quiver that embraces her fine lips!
The freshness she emanates prances around,
and clings on to every passer-by!
Swinging her bag with utmost glee,
and shaking her head with mad certainty,
(to set right her middle-ear-fluid issues)
the girl dances to the tunes of life!
Constipated with joy, and even otherwise,
overcome with delicious fears, she is oft!
Breeze she is, and sometimes, the rain,
falling from the skies above to meet the earth!
Hopping and skipping, as she pleases!
What a wonder, Oh, what a wonder?

My friend she is, and will be forever,
and the insanity will catch me soon.
And I shall prance as carefree as her,
and become my own friend soon.

Ebony and Ivory

The dark tresses of her hair,
cling to each other effortlessly.
A matte of sorts, a portrait black,
and unnamed legend in the dark night.
Fondled softly by rough hands,
and kissed often by the river of blood.
An enigma that lasts for a moment,
till the curtain of darkness lifts,
and the beauty that lies beneath
knows no match for wilderness above.
The striking ivory remains tainted,
for the evils disappear in the dark,
but perish not on her pallid face.

The matters of the liver

A frenzied march from across the hall,
and a knight standing all too proud!
Where? Oh, where else!? In the hall!
Where's the princess? Where's the clown?
Missing, missing! Why, O why!?
A frantic search in the kingdom,
and hands that felt the sky above
in despair, or due to sweaty armpits?
Either way, we all give up!
Oh, wait! One more place to scrounge!
I put my hand on my bare chest and breathe!
Aha, there you are! You elusive crowd-puller!
Where's the princess, you clowned-up boy?
"She's gone to the liver, sire!", said he!
The liver! Oh, dear! Not the liver!
Breathe, she cannot, the odours there!
Couldn't she have settled for a tiny heart!?
"No, sire! She said she likes exotic sights"
Exotic, my foot! Exotic, my liver!
The cuticles on my body stand in attention,
as I grope for my liver.
A belch here and there, and nausea!
And, finally, the wriggling royal in my hands!
And I look at her 'faint' expression,
and a wave of love washes the stink away!
I shall fondle you for life, O dear!
And I shall cage you in my heart forever!
She awoke and smiled, and squeezed my bottom,
"Cage me in your liver, sire. I like."
All yours! ALL yours!
My bladder, my liver, my kidneys, my all!


P.S.-And tomorrow, if thou shalt like, you can live in my heart, too. :)

Apologies

The previous post was a raging impulse. Let's get back to serious poetry.

Or not.

Cheers.

Enough of the poetry!

Ok. So, I write. What do I write? Poetry, I humbly reply. Poetry? You call your random verses and stanzas 'poetry'? SERIOUSLY? Cheek, I say! Poetry requires a lot more. (On the other end, a cough can be heard. A cough that vaguely resembles a-p-p-a-r-e-n-t-l-y) One should possess the skill to make the words sway with each other in a continuous rhythm of rhyme and melody. And that skill, my dear, ought to be 'natural'. Ahem, without the inverted commas, please.

Look, I don't like this..this..swaying and the vulgar shaking-of-the-hips of my noble words, just so that i can sell my work to an avaricious reader! I am no prostitute, for Pete's sake! Dignity! Where has that aspect of writing gone? Sadofy in hell, you pompous freako!

Shut up, woman! Don't 'fy' me. Swaying of the words doesn't mean a crude cabaret, not that cabaret is at all skill-less. Try it sometime. I bet you can't even move your wretched toe! Shaking a leg, it seems! Presumption...!

Ahaan? Really? Well, in my defense, I think that poetry is a very personal art! If I do not want dancing harlots on my paper, and if I crave the straight-backed cavalry on my paper, so be it! This whole 'beauty in writing' is such a farce! Defying relativism and all that. I do what I like, I like what I do! Screw you! Oh, yes, I can swear whenever I want to! Don't give me any of that 'aesthetic' shit!

Sigh, well, all right! Do whatever! You babies call your writing 'liberal' and 'all inclusive'. Let me tell you, it's a shame! A stark blot of dark shame on the face of literature! Abstract writing, they say. What a fall, oh, what a fall! Had I the heart of pulp, I would cry!

Cheer up, you bozo, and move on!
No one gives a dime for an old fart like you. Big time. Should I say, period?

This one's for the wanderer.

Spotless white, a sudden shadow.
Turned to gray, my eternal light!
The last tango rang a distant memory,
and nostalgia bowed its last bow.
An encore was wanted, but a fair one.
The dusk too bright refused all light,
and I rested my bottom in darkness.
An endless wait, an endless breath,
that only seemed to last forever.
A flicker of a moment in life and time,
Just a flicker, and you are gone.
An endless wait, like the endless breath-
Never to return, never to return.