Sleep
Spirited away soul
Asleep
No pain
No fear
No worries
No responsibilities
No false promises to keep
Undisturbed Unperturbed
A few gratifying moments
Of pictorial poetic sleep.
Tearless trauma
choked cries
disembodied weep
When we are awake
And not asleep.
dedicated to her who cannot be named.. it was love asleep and she should not be blamed.. distempered she devil untamed
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
In Gods Inbox We Send
The rains
Our Pain
wont end
showers to
inundate our souls
as heavenly
blessings god sent
we fall we rise
no we don’t bend
our broken houses
on stilted hopes we mend
strangers we befriend
together our human pride
we defend ..
we borrow courage
good faith we lend
tragedies come and go
we stand as human chain
caste color creed we blend
this unity
even the gods cant rend
man living as man
on super manly stipend
rain waters create havoc
through
our lives wend,
we on each
other depend.
this is the message
in gods inbox
we send
Our Pain
wont end
showers to
inundate our souls
as heavenly
blessings god sent
we fall we rise
no we don’t bend
our broken houses
on stilted hopes we mend
strangers we befriend
together our human pride
we defend ..
we borrow courage
good faith we lend
tragedies come and go
we stand as human chain
caste color creed we blend
this unity
even the gods cant rend
man living as man
on super manly stipend
rain waters create havoc
through
our lives wend,
we on each
other depend.
this is the message
in gods inbox
we send
a dying soliloquy
photo courtesy www.fotosearch.com/DGT473/42-15200898/
She who
hides
behind
a camera face
with
every written word
she will surface
leave no trace
such is rationed
internet time
at any given place
my thoughts
her thoughts do chase
she does not know
a part of her ethereal
in my heart does stay
she cock teases
with a cleavage
that has no part to play.
a little girl locked up
in a woman’s body
a night that turns to day
her thoughts
on my thought stray
deleted for ever
from her
recycled bin …
in the dustbin of her
webpage
a dying soliloquy
page cannot be displayed
She who
hides
behind
a camera face
with
every written word
she will surface
leave no trace
such is rationed
internet time
at any given place
my thoughts
her thoughts do chase
she does not know
a part of her ethereal
in my heart does stay
she cock teases
with a cleavage
that has no part to play.
a little girl locked up
in a woman’s body
a night that turns to day
her thoughts
on my thought stray
deleted for ever
from her
recycled bin …
in the dustbin of her
webpage
a dying soliloquy
page cannot be displayed
Untesticular Fortitude
I went for a pictorial stroll
A rainy day , at Chinchpokli road
Flooded Filthy guttered waters
Overflowing
Puking
Throwing up
Unknowing
A Venice in Mumbai
To regale and extol
And Gonsalves Wadi a river
Beyond municipal control
I stood on a parapet AB Hotel
A shot I took , stepped into
An unmarked open rain storm Manhole
Me my Nikon D70 , body
Bruised and drenched
Like a turd in a toilet bowl
And the municipal guys watched
Humans , inhuman without soul
Football like euphoria
And the Municipality shooting
A self goal.
Eunuched
Un Testicular fortitude
Man made
Man stole.
A rainy day , at Chinchpokli road
Flooded Filthy guttered waters
Overflowing
Puking
Throwing up
Unknowing
A Venice in Mumbai
To regale and extol
And Gonsalves Wadi a river
Beyond municipal control
I stood on a parapet AB Hotel
A shot I took , stepped into
An unmarked open rain storm Manhole
Me my Nikon D70 , body
Bruised and drenched
Like a turd in a toilet bowl
And the municipal guys watched
Humans , inhuman without soul
Football like euphoria
And the Municipality shooting
A self goal.
Eunuched
Un Testicular fortitude
Man made
Man stole.
Developer Dude and His Kitten
photo courtesy google images
On his bed lies a sleepy kitten
It was love at first site
And she was smitten
Her throat all love bitten
And her claws on his back
Like feathery heathery mitten
Who is this goddess of a kitten
No she is not from Great Britain
No she is not Polynesian
No not Indonesian
No she is not East Indian
Or Jamaican West Indian
No she is not Italian
No not nuclear lit Iranian
No she is not African
No not Aztec or Mexican
No she is not Brazilian
Code of Omerta
Certainly not Sicilian
No not Japanese
Or Sinhalese
No she is not Australian
Perhaps Californian
Nonetheless she is a Developer Dudes s kitten
And this feline beauty cannot be underwritten.
On his bed lies a sleepy kitten
It was love at first site
And she was smitten
Her throat all love bitten
And her claws on his back
Like feathery heathery mitten
Who is this goddess of a kitten
No she is not from Great Britain
No she is not Polynesian
No not Indonesian
No she is not East Indian
Or Jamaican West Indian
No she is not Italian
No not nuclear lit Iranian
No she is not African
No not Aztec or Mexican
No she is not Brazilian
Code of Omerta
Certainly not Sicilian
No not Japanese
Or Sinhalese
No she is not Australian
Perhaps Californian
Nonetheless she is a Developer Dudes s kitten
And this feline beauty cannot be underwritten.
Lord Mouth
Yes I am
Lord Mouth
I say what I have to say
Me and my feet of clay
You with a hardened heart slay
Yes I am Loud Mouth
You should not read
What I write
Blindfold your colored I sight
You should no hear
And stay clear
Of me
And my tattooed posterior
When I bray
Or poetically pray
And my decapitated thoughts
At your feet
On a tray
Call me
Home Boy
Shia Thug
If you may
A rose as Firoze
Thorned to your side
If you say
Yes I am Loud Mouth
I say what I have to say
Me and my feet of clay.
This is my shop bag and this poem was in retaliation of the barbed words of American lady who has Indian colored skinned dead meat for breakfast what remains she has it for dinner....than spits the bones out as undigested hate for her bete noir called the shia thug no1....
you can be a poet withour reading poetry a better poet than those who write poetry..fight poetry under your multicolor ass light poetry..
Lord Mouth
I say what I have to say
Me and my feet of clay
You with a hardened heart slay
Yes I am Loud Mouth
You should not read
What I write
Blindfold your colored I sight
You should no hear
And stay clear
Of me
And my tattooed posterior
When I bray
Or poetically pray
And my decapitated thoughts
At your feet
On a tray
Call me
Home Boy
Shia Thug
If you may
A rose as Firoze
Thorned to your side
If you say
Yes I am Loud Mouth
I say what I have to say
Me and my feet of clay.
This is my shop bag and this poem was in retaliation of the barbed words of American lady who has Indian colored skinned dead meat for breakfast what remains she has it for dinner....than spits the bones out as undigested hate for her bete noir called the shia thug no1....
you can be a poet withour reading poetry a better poet than those who write poetry..fight poetry under your multicolor ass light poetry..
UnTouched Soul
god gave woman a mind
a mind that is sightless
ok call it blind
god gave woman a heart
thick skinned rind
a heart that is heartless
ok call it unkind
a daggered tongue
that they stab
nice human being like us
from behind
the best of man
his untouched soul
by women purloined
love and hate
equally conjoined
pain and pleasure
equally groined
dedicated to a set of sealed lips
a mind that is sightless
ok call it blind
god gave woman a heart
thick skinned rind
a heart that is heartless
ok call it unkind
a daggered tongue
that they stab
nice human being like us
from behind
the best of man
his untouched soul
by women purloined
love and hate
equally conjoined
pain and pleasure
equally groined
dedicated to a set of sealed lips
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