Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Mushy Prick

I see, they have all fallen in my haven..
Clutching at one heart when they silently depart,
They steal from themselves one mushy prick-
Who scrapes through their passions and turns them alert.

They sprawl on the same floor and fret on one soil..
For a thud of raindrop is nothing but one turmoil.
When pesky pests throng into one hole and mend it,
They think they're on to one humble hamlet.

They peer outside and snarl at the gray,
And suddenly the sky seems to sway,
The old sage Sun hides himself away,
And mushy cloud-lets,-
Can they turn so fey?

The sullen cloud-lets weep and silently wait-
To see if their poor cousins join them and play.
But one thud of tear dispels one fear,
And pesky insects,-
Can they hold their ticker when they choose to slay?

Questions and answers do readily alter,
When scenes so terribly change and hopes falter,
The search ends when a prick needs to claim,-

"I could not escape from penning this play."

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Battle of the Bereaved

Little Merry merrymaking in the courtyard..
With little kids surrounding her,
Some oldsters, jovial and genial, hanging out with old pals.
And young Marcus gazing at his small wonder..

Silently he whispers,"fragrant like a bud wet with dew-beads,
Like senses winding up and caressing me underneath..
And all my affection fondles my passions,
Is this the peace in each silent breath?"

One father beams,and one daughter laughs...
One husband cried, for one wife died...
One battle of the bereaved still goes on,-
'Cause however he weeps, his daughter smiled...

Smiled when he shed drops of tears....
Smiled when he felt lost in fears..
Oh how sweet a battle this is to fight...
Where a doleful soul finds Her respite..

Hours pass by, and finally the party breaks...
Oldsters, youngsters and kids depart..
Merry and Marcus still rejoice...
With bigger hopes and their battle, apart!

Sweet Split

The man in gray strolls around-
On a street, so dark where nobody's found.
His humble abode abuts onto a park,-
Where hungry hounds wallow and bark.

Silently, he comes and opens the door,
And, he finds the same old dusty floor.
On the table, some piles of dirty sheets,
He snatches one and silently reads...

Some words of woes groan in greed,
Mr. Gray, puzzled to hear one bit,
Little White comes and curtly asks,
"What's the matter father? Where's my gift?"
Father grins and says,
"Let Black come and win some,
Then I'll let you pounce on it.
You know, I found some fierce dogs barking-
With lurking greed, and lashes on their ugly spirit.
I had something for both of you...
But I lost some on the dusty street."

White retorts,
"There's my brother Black, always late,
Now please unwrap whatever you have..
May be my brother is just so black,
But, both of us bear one white might."

Black interferes,
"Lend me some papers and I will read,
That's the only thing I really need."

Mr. Gray beams as he slowly unwraps..
Stares at the twins while his heart weeps.

White: "Conceit conquers as I hold one pen,
What will I do with papers of pain?
You have brought these papers for me,
These are just too white to let my thoughts flee."

Black: "Oh father! I am so glad today,-
I can write whatever I want to say.
You have brought papers for me
So bright and white they are, I will fight and see."

Father: "Both of you,-
Do things that you like.
You may let your thoughts flow on your sheet,
I will get to know by then,-
What was there in the dogs on the street?
I'm leaving home for one long week,
I'll be back and see what you really seek."

And so, Mr. Gray stealthily departs,
Walking down to the woods of firs.
He finds no fiery dog on the street,
As his whistle quavers in happy spirit.

Steadily White tries to hold one pen,
One hand shivers, as one loves to restrain.
White writes,
"Hail my spirit, so pure and white,
No evil layer without respite,
I'm here as one God's grace,
Nothing can spoil my solemn pace.
I burn with my peace, and I never let it flee,
I'm so proud that my spirit is so free.
I'm as sane as one wise sage,
I feel my thoughts transcend the wall of age.
I live on my pride, as I cease to write..
So, I finish off here,
And I rub off this trite."

Mr. White slays his ugly passion..
The flow of ink chokes in inflamed emotion..
However White tries to kill his fright,
He can not but succumb to his adamant might...
And the inked white sheet flutters in the wind...
The harsh wind of a beast's spite....

Delightful Black holds his pen,
Both hands shiver, none ready to restrain.
Black writes,
"Nail my spirit, dirty and full of fright,
Of dead divinity with my broad foresight.
Here I am as one evil pace,
Something can spoil my juvenile grace.
I cherish sorrow and let it gush out to flee,
I'm humble, and my spirit strives to live free.
I'm as insane as one noxious savage,
You feel my instincts can maul my rage.
I live on my spite, and I care my pride,
So, I start off from here,
And I concoct stories to help me write...
And, I write..
I write.."

But then, this white sheet strangles one smeared soul,
Filthy Black hires ire to howl...
However he tries to let his thoughts flow,
His burning rancor prefers to glow..
And, he can't find one deep furrow-
In a field of ration, he courts one defeat..
The lone white sheet flutters in the steel breeze of conceit.

Someone opens the door-
Enters Mr. Gray,
Both Black and White are not there,
He just finds two sheets fluttering on the floor..
His face turns somber but he is feeble no more...
He picks up two sheets, stares at the words galore..
Some words of hope, some healing one wound....
And, quickly he turns one piece of paper-
Where he leaves one final note,
"My beloved off-springs,
Gifts of my sorrow and abject instincts.
Today, I find myself in that hungry street hound-
Its gray greed lurking in my pathos profound..
When I see both of you so distinctly apart,
I figure out this haze-
And, I bark like one hound.
Today, I know barking beasts don't bite but me..
Since I let you live so terribly free..
Today, this hell turns divine,
You are just two halves of mine.
Both of you seek peace in my regime...
So, Mr. White and Mr. Black, rest in peace.
The Gray rules and others, imbecile."

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Joke of Academia

All around us, we find a troll of several crews of contemptible dumbasses brandishing their weapon of demagogy..and those ruling in our academic institutes are even unwilling to abdicate a self proclaimed throne of pedagogy, leaving the fate of a breed of thousands of budding talents completely ruined!

These roaches continue to master their individual ruse, unabashed and unabated...They pounce on a learner's intellect at every possible scope, and they claim to have been nurturing the same from the time "prehistoric"! ROFL...
It's time the learners retaliate to the collective idiocy of these noxious insects!!

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

A Strange Note

He is sad..He needs yank up..

He is running through a strange phase in his life..strange in a way that it has strangled him up only to make him succumb to his self..

He finds no way but to yield to his impulsive compulsion..He finds no better option than to fall a prey to the noxious vice full of lies. The abominable self cries for its ablutions, and he is still unable to wash off the filth since it has stifled his self-esteem..The game of love was so unevenly poised...and the game of hatred seems really a tough one to fight....

He can't chuck the stones of malevolence at his besmirched and revengeful self..He can't even heal the wounds of his bruised ego with all his mellow and conciliatory intellect..He finds no way but to give in to his adamant arrogance...Day by day, it's getting harder for him to wipe off an abject,yet easily foreseeable misfortune ahead of him....

So,this young chap dies by the day with no hope whatsoever to bounce back, for he has contravened the laws of life, lost his battle to the deceit of death only to end up getting inexorably smeared at every possible moment...
He feels abandoned, a lone forlorn warrior roaming in the same old gray battlefield, groaning in endless agony, still proceeding stealthily with bottomless lust and fearless ferocity....

Sunday, May 9, 2010

The Pretender

Flailing my hands to reach out to a darkness-
of frights and fights solemnly wrapped in wrath,-
And my strength struggles to bounce back,
and my weakness seems a matter of ignorance.

Lost in a myriad of thoughts to ruminate-
in a regime of silent pathos..
with colors fading away baring a region-
too obtrusively pale to soothe your vision..

My vision, gasping in my Air of Purity,
My vision, blazing in my aureole of austerity..

Today, she heaves a sigh of feigning relief..
since the door,slightly ajar to my daring decadence.

Today, I feel, I'm no bloody insane..
neither a loser and,-
neither the me in myself..
I'm just a fake,-
A clone of the lone vying for the pie of life,
and savoring the straw liquor of putrid intellect.

I keep muttering words of impotent importance.
And with a purple blotch right onto my chest,-
Instincts retaliate to anger and vengeance!