Friday, October 19, 2012

Pygmalion to Galatea

Honestly my dear, try as I may,
I can't forgo this pubescent fixation on skin.
Platform or mall or tram bus or train
The eyes cannot rest
From the curvacious contours of
Full ripened limbs
That struggle with clothes
For an inch full of light
As I fixate on ecstasy of sense.

I'm not a monk in his cloisters, you know,
But a man with his senses all sane.
And hence they are spread over valleys and hills
Or occasional cliffs that call to my soul
Tempests of animals unleashed.

Choked with dull-dour dosage of grime
These little showers of fantasy I need
To stagger through my miles unshorn.

Call me a voyeur or pervert if you will,
I care not a fig for labels as these.
Shapes and forms are all them my ware
That I breathe into stones rough or smooth.
Hence shall I gaze with bold brazen eyes
And drink in all nectars of honeysuckle days
That ooze from the creases of dresses or skin
And moisten my chapped arid ways.

A fool for the flesh? Well, let it be.
If God in his wisdom has made thus frail
Angels on earth shall I see.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Sleepless in Saltlake

Yet another day now comes to a close.

Shutting at last my ledgers of pain,
I browse through the pages of hours of days
And cower beneath well-trodden caches of blank
That have clogged my disks with items unused
In drives full of untraceable malwares in heaps.

Trapped into unchanging patterns of same
I dread rather more the end that'll start,
These patterns at once from scratch.

Torn between fears of a withered old dawn
And sleep full of illusion of rest
I writhe among sheets with eyes open shut
And count my minutes full of sweat.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Fool's Pledge

I've burnt my bridges and no longer care
For feathers, that others
Deem, are not my own.

Jesting my way
With hammed brittle scripts
I'm fed up with the texture
Of motley and cap
And have broken my arrows of wit.

I'll no more now wait
With sermons or lore
For lovers or old men
In a world that is crazy as bats.

Damned be this farce,
And a plague on you all!

The fool's now a knave and gladly would go
In times that are tossed to and fro.