Septic meter

I lay bare soaking, the regurgitated night last,

No semblance of sanitation, shame aside, cast

away with prudery, as fervent drudgery,

I relish my sty, an ode, my delight.

My body decaying, scales of dry slime,

fingernailing scrapes, off peeling skin grime,

Oily Scratches, blotchy patches, hair falling first,

Cocktailing salty fluid, quenching dusty thirst,

Brackish vomit thickening, a filthy hairy mast,

Soiling my existence, a prelude to a past!

The big bang theory

Burning vine escalating veins,

Swelling shivers on satin stains,

Swooning nerves in bursting bloom,

Weeping skin within tendering ‘spoons’.

Tingling thirsts die consuming sweats,

Silvering suns, in mirroring sets,

Sipping flames in teething cuts,

weaving love from thieving lusts.

Sweetly ripened in fruiting harrow,

Silent screams lie dead tomorrow.

Split in seconds, passions parade,

An existence found, the moment astray.

Shallow Man

Scarlet frocks curving lust,

Guilty lips and glittering trusts,

Amber locks on talcum dew

reflecting off the Shimmering hue.

Blushing peaches, bruising skin,

Scented napes on blooming sins,

teasing allures, silently weep,

The reign of beauty, only skin deep.

Burn

The trusty lighter,

The frothy white water

The toilet bowl,

The yellowing stone.

The ‘ash-ing’ portrait,

The melting paste,

The puttering ink,

The ‘wafer-ing’ page.

The ‘love-make’ bills,

The crackling hearts,

The ‘nuc-tear’ fuel,

The exploding past.




(And with this I burn everything, that ever linked my past to yours)

As you said Goodbye

What torn promises, you wouldn't keep,

the wreckage behind you, as you leave,

looking back through the speeding glass,

I appear small, my tears smaller still.

I stand alone, as I quiver,

Choking on my tearful pain,

My heart sinks, my eyes squint,

As you disappear in that rain.



The road looks now, an empty rivulet,

Flooded with my aching lament,

I hold on still, I might hear the engine roar,

As it takes you away, and leaves me sore.





What wreckage remains, as you lead

The death of your promises, upon which I weep,

Silently screaming, my body aches,

I still stand still, as now it quakes.


If I turn away, it wouldn’t be a dream,

You would be gone; I would lay forlorn, still

My mind empty, I hear your goodbye,

I close my eyes and silently cry,

Yellow daffodils and bright blue skies,

Perhaps once again, my life would pass by.

Vices of life

Perhaps life's sanctity, and not its futility,

lies in dissolute irony.

For if it were non existent, so would be, expression.



To what worth do I condemn myself that my means and ends lay justified?

To what immorality and insanity do I adhere, so to abet my obsessions?

My finality, does not exist if not for my depraved reality,

and so I live on; with heightened sense of good,

naïve, for my life exhibits evil,

in which I revel with perpetual grief.



I panic at its petulant fragility.

It might be so, it never ends.

Albeit fervent, it isn’t in love,

and the hatred sears me blind.

I feel empty, pining for a sense of morose fulfillment,

it evades me, on a shallow premise,

for it never did exist, my elixir.



So here it lay, on truth,

parched, my loving reverie,

I would bid thee farewell, and kiss thee goodbye

but if only I could accept thee 'thatwise'.

Our Last Dance

Locked in your arms,

My heart, a great stallion,

gazing glassily into yours,

how I wished I could cry.

wrapped in your arms,

delirious in my pain,

I followed along,

as I longed for you to kiss me.



If I could fathom then,

the inevitability of that end,

when your arms would slip slowly off my waist,

when my eyes would leave your beautiful face,

I would have, with all my heart,

Begged for you, to kiss me.



I would have brought my cheek upon yours

as my body would resist my hearts implore,

to be closer still, to be forever filled,

looking beyond you as I would weep,

my tears wouldn’t stop

and I wouldn’t breathe.




I wouldn’t want you to ever leave.

Oh! My sweet love,

How I would have kissed you then,

If only I knew, I would never dance again.

My Divine

When blamed of beauty, you guise, guiltily by,
Vain becomes you, yet, you proudly shine,
Your words, pithy, your gaze fleeting,
Float on, idol, divine.
And I will worship the ground,
Upon which your soles, barely linger.


I look over gently,
From your skin to your soul.
Unveiling splendor,
like you, there were never more.
Beauty now prevails, defined ,
impeaching you of thievery, deceit, undue.
And yet I worship the ground,
Upon which your soles, barely linger.


Your presence haunts my fragility, my heart,
Silence looms as my body weeps,
Overwhelmed by your beauty, revered,
I only stare, I stare.

I look away quickly, yielding to worth,
And then I bow, beneath my heart,
And I worship the ground and I worship again,
And I worship again and I worship some more


Morning chirps, breezily by, and
though golden treasures adorn your life.
Your eyes twinkle the deceit of night last,
You were conquered, sold, bought and lost.
Tarnished my love, only tatters remain,
Of your life and your worth, of you, divine.
Yet I worship, with sordid grief,
And yet In that pain, I dwell dutifully, weak.


With reborn hope, I look upon your deeds,
If they could have you, it could, just once, be me,
I would hold you tender, un-break your stupor,
Your warm skin would boil, for me,
Your hairs would rise, your heart would thunder,
Your body would weep, all for me.

But as I would touch you, your precious lips,
Would part in anguish, in protest, in pain,
As tears would flood, your burning face,
I would know my burden was nothing as great.

And soon I would wake, and find me unworthy,
and soon I would sigh, and look away,
And soon you would leave, and break my heart,
Though soon, I would lie and be content.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When accused of being beautiful, you look away guilty. You are vain and that brings you pride. You are superior and speak less. Your words aren’t wasted, just like your gaze isn’t. you never give more than what’s needed, in fact you are meager with wasting your looks to common eyes. You are divine. I worship the ground which your feet barely touch.

I sneak a peek at you, so you won’t notice me and turn away. Your skin and soul define a kind of beauty that never before prevailed on earth. You are accused of stealing beauty, deceiving people somehow. And yet, I still cannot help but worship and kiss the ground you walk upon.

Your presence sends my fragile heart into over drive. Silence rings in my ears as my body starts to sweat (weep). I am so overwhelmed by your holy beauty that I can only stare.
But I realize my worth quickly. I am not worthy enough to keep looking at you. And so I bow down as low as I can. Lower than my pride allows me and lower for my love, as it calls. I bow and I worship you.

As morning awakes, your life illuminated by sunlight. Though It’s decorating you in all the riches it can offer, still holding you as an idol of divinity, your beautiful twinkling eyes reveal your truth. You have been unfaithful to my devotion, philandering with evil, you were like a prostitute for the vices of life. You have been discarded, torn and tattered. But I still worship you, though now with filthy sorrow. I still remain loyal and though weak with self loathing, I still wait for you painfully.

But as I think and ponder on your actions. I question my position. If every vice has had a go at you, if nothing substantial of you remains why can’t I have you? I would hold you softly, yet with passion. I would be the one for whom your blood would boil, the one to give you the shivers of excitement. Your heart would pace and your body would sweat. All this for me.

But, as I touch you precious lips, I can see the anguish on your face. You are in pain, being taken by me. you cry to be free you weep in the pain that my presence has brought upon you. It is then that I know that my burden of never getting you, of never being worthy enough for your love, is lesser than the pain It would cause you, by just being mine. With this realization, I wake up. I know I am unworthy and it was all a dream. As I look away, I know you are leaving, and you break my heart doing so, but I could always lie to myself again, pretend that you love me, and be content.

Neon butterflies and Gingerbread Windows

Outlined world, the colour bleeding out,

a leg on my arm, many heads on their limbs.

As smooth hair tickles my bald lips,

my cheeks betray their infidelity.

As long and coarse, as grainy and salted,

engraved lines are drawn to deceive.




A whistle announces time; a silence follows the stampede.

It comes to crash, and then to whirl,

shiny polka dots on the ripped expanse.

The draped and dressed window, my horizon,

it outlines my existence, my world in multitudes of two.

It’s symmetry sacrosanct, so sustained.



The reality of the salty flesh dawns,

as gray light chips into my reason,

as the great mist surrounds, I fear to reach out, I close my eyes.

The gray disappears, the black comfort returns,

it flickers till I am strong again.

The stereo eye singing softly, my pupils dilate the limbs around me.



Digging up sand, burying my feet,

Inhaling divinity, residual yet potent,

my eyes burn and lips cry, I reach out for the smoke.

It engulfs me, I swirl I spin, I never breathe.

A big shiny coin, almost transparent,

conically extrapolates reality.

I touch its glass, it holds to linger,

It’s wetness invites my parched insides.


Rolling in a pool of transparent blood,

it smells potent and burns my throat,

My eyes cry, the cry of fire,

My body grieves my losing life.








I look up to a long palm, reaching out to the sky,

white stubby fingers, no opposable thumbs.

It hits a surface as I stand and stumble,

on that palm reality now defines.

I crawl to gravity, on smooth cold ripples,

gray and hard, they never end.

I think of steel and then of the night,

Of yellow yolk covered in gray.





I see limbs; they now have heads,

their shadows obstruct the bleeding lights.

My body grunts as I drag against the wind,

stillness awaits, I no longer breathe divine.






He stands insidious, in an insipid life,

bled out colours, drained unfilled.

Dying embers carpet his authority,

slow and menacing, he commands the night.

I now see his putrid life, his ugly sinister fiery eyes,

I am betrayed, I am defied.

I see him and I am steered in high tide,

tears flood me as I sink.

Thrown by physical manifestations of grief,

my dying life, I no longer search.






As reality unveils, I crawl feebly on embers,

Capturing, that last whiff of psychedelic dream.

Neon butterflies and gingerbread windows,

Outlined and bleeding, I dream my episodic life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
/*Brief Expl:
(1 : I wake up with people around me...sloshed n asleep...over each other...Someone’s sandy hair is on my face, it has left a mark on my cheeks.

2 : I hear the guard whistle...the sound changes to waves crashing..I don know where I am...I look up n see stars through my eyes..I admire the symmetry of my window, my window is my set of decorated eyes.

3 : I taste my salty lips and try and open my eyes, it seems as though some 1 is chipping their way in..Its not bright...there is grey light around..but its smoky so i close my eyes again and attempt to open them again n again till I finally do...I can hear music and see hands and feet all over...

4 : The room is filled with residual smoke...it is potent enough..I try not to inhale any more

5 : I see the coin shaped base of a shot glass...it takes me some time to figure out the cone shaped glass surrounded by alcohol which burns my throat..i then describe my feet as i stand on them

6 : I crawl down stairs, people brush past me...

7 : 'he' refers to the last 'joint')
*\

She used to be Her

I look back in adulation, to a person that used to be,

In love and enough for herself,

Her living, a simple point,

Her life, an unfathomable digress.


I look back at her untouched,

Unclaimed by her own

Other sides to her haven’t unfolded yet,

The complications have yet to set in.


I want to warn her, the leap,

Save her from her present loathing,

For all she blames her life to be,

Is that one decision that wrecked all in it.

Roots and wings.

Sublime in my efforts, I beckon my wings,

My erudition to shelter my honest attempts,

I wasn’t born with feathers, or the authority to dream,

Nor with the conviction of the sky, as my limit.

Yet I would marvel in proclivity and resolve,

The endless possibilities of life, in flight.


My disposition is humble, that of a leaf.

A part of many, which complete a tree.

Caught in the middle, held by a cord,

I alone am irrelevant, dead by dawn.

The strings of my existence, grounded in my roots

My freedom would be a struggle, falling further to soot.


My dreams exaggerate when a bird brushes past me,

Swiftly with purpose, yet aimless digress.

What a life it would be, to glide freely in the wind,

The possibility of twisting, observing the world round by,

And maybe a bird would catch me by the beak,

Soaring above rocks, diving into seas.


These wings I have made, with blood and broil.

Nights of yearning, days glazed in pine.

Maybe that fall, would break me by my stem,

Maybe into oblivion, to dust I would melt.

Or maybe this miracle, to my end it would be,

Though short-lived, my one escapade.