rimbaud's soldier

and there's a white trail
a blaze of smoke
the womb of the birth of the sun
bursting in tremors of super sonic

there are fighter planes whirring across the skies.
I'm no soldier fighting the devil's paradise
i do your bidding sire,
here here Ai son of the soil
lie down and protect and toil

i lie sleepless at most mid nights
and never think about silent arabs and camels
and my childhood nightmares of my cut head being tied

where do i think of jet planes and rockets
but in dreams i never have
that i make
that i see but
none to stake

and might i be your distant twilight dream
white lilies 'parakeets and a dash of lime

and i am but a soldier
who's not in war
but i wait
with my gun
by the roadside inn
on some lonely,
lonesome,midnights.

i loved a man.

And we knit concave apocalypses 
like spit bubbles,
trapped in mirrors of the tongue
My hair was a cob web
and you were daddy long legs 

those armies
swiftly uncertain, strong , 
coming on
leading
to conquer

and I knew I belonged
to the galaxy 
within your arms

bon bon

I'm as scared of philosophy as I am of chazzmatazz.

Too many under read and unread and so much more to shelf. This truant is a bible reader and now scared of not being able to hear the gospel.

the painter.

I'm lying in a mirage and its not always an oasis. Sometimes its busy paints on nimble fingers.Thrifty strokes and a menacing temper. I want to tear the f****** canvas till it bleeds by my fingers.

poker

I'm distributing alphabets and the sun is never up.

The moon is lying in a crescent as the sky is a cave.

Resonance is blissful and I'm the joker.

Princess purple stains

Your throne is in shambles
mighty pedestal drowning
in bleeding rainbows
and racing heartbeat

Did you who made her
hair flowing and big eyes
make the monster
who ripped paradise?

I don’t ask you for much
not justice or truth.
just some patience
and a gentle hand.

How will she ever  walk again?
head held high,
Little princess purple stains

As we sow, so shall we reap?
Is this the full circle, now complete?

Laughter is drowning
in the darkness of the night
there’s nothing in my heart
just frothing spite.

Dear god, why? I’ve asked you this a millionen times.
Why won’t you just retire and leave them in plight.
Is this your world? This disgusting air is far too difficult to breathe.
Your complacency is a sham that will be sung about. You look on.

Her tears will dry soon and everyone will forget. While she will live. Everyday. This haunting death.

If you are listening. Rip his heart out. Make him bleed. Don’t let him die.

_____________________________________________________________

I have always felt strongly about this issue since the very inception of my blog. Its something that I think no one should ever have to face.

Its something I've had an inlikng about and I prayed that it should'nt repeat. But well, utopia is a mirage.

Written on 20-4-13

I couldn't concentrate on my papers.

a million roses martyred

I heard last that you were growing old.
I didn’t know you as well as I’d have liked to.

But I wish your passage to the beyond
is laced with the scent of a million roses martyred
And that your tired breath is finally dispersed into the firmament

As you meet our maker
may he anoint your rosy cheeks
with the grace of angels
and may his light shine upon
everyone that loved you dearly

May every tear shed for you
be a rainfall that quenches droughts.

I’d like to sing at your funeral
because all I have is broken thoughts
and unsaid words.
Don’t we all?

Your presence was the breath in his being
And as you meet your favorite brother
somewhere in the realms of the sky
remember to find us gazing
at the starry midnight sky

Searching for a radiant star
we will reminisce of your smile
and your exemplary life
will be passed on through generations
just like the stories you told your grandchildren
on rainy days and the smell of coffee will linger on.

Let the scent of roses remind us of all that you lived for.

_______________________________________________________________

I'm writing after a year. Phew. I thought I had forgotten.

This is for my gran's sister. He loved her.

anonymous

Vulcan and the grease of an elevator

the constitution of and people charter (chatter)
oft on and a few many chapters

The birds the bees
and many breakfasts later

bricks, kiln and barter
the wise, the vazir and hereafter

The dream, the drown , the danseuse
the clown, the frown , the hipster

Oft on and a few many chapters

The medium, the muse, the master
the fleet, the flight, the faster

Oft on and a few many chapters

The power, the poet, the pauper

After oft and oft after
the scheme, the scam and the scamster

Mullah and Moon birth.

The tendrils of the moon were sprawling in the womb of the midnight firmament almost drowning into the glistening ocean.
The even tide was a subtle lullaby and a crest and fall were its resonance.
The North Star was an ornament that glistened and embellished the darkness that was the eternity of the night. All of the night was an amphitheatre. The theatricals were significant and the stars were symmetry.
The moon was a blossoming fragrance in the air. Dispersed and soaking in all of its aplomb.
The hollow trees were a mesmerizing tune and the flowers were overwhelming to the senses. A soothing chill tumbled in with the breeze. Like a playful child that was half curiosity and big eyes and the other half was devotion.
Why does moon rise take so long?