An epitaph obliged

Here rests herself, a narrative.
Subdued before she could give
To reason with life another laughter
Aforesaid woman sleeps alone here.

Under the juniper on a hill solitary
Mourned still by this forlorn prairie
In aftersongs of high wind rhymers
And pouring pale dead that blanket her.

All that mother of afflatus left above
Are torn apart rumors of half love
and flashbacks of sapphire eyes in truth-
Once felt by many unheard-of youth.

Whatever the Fates had to string
For those who lack a seraphic ring.
Cinder in my eyes or fingertip’s gall
Are not the sorest of them all.

The evening perishes, I yet inscribe
An unsigned work sans a critic’s jibe.
Words remain hard to engrave in rain
While I enshroud my tone, in vain.

Glass work

Wearing a stain one less

fluxing,

signing in unison

under sheets of observance

in poorly dreamt nights.

The kettle song, just listen

Mama’s words let smitten;

Till see(it)through.

But conditional vows as such

you may sneeze endearingly

and watch ‘em

like lilting fear get

tinted with the sketchiness.

Take a bow, Schindler

A personal experience relapsing a personal favourite. Go on Liam Neeson fans, loathe me for impersonating him.

Landslides and Moodswings

As my careworn eyes meet

A quiet few balconies

On an even quieter side street,

My talltales, they shorten;

To the skyline retreat.

As a led astray gush of wind

My neckline sets to greet,

A blank piece of paper and

Endless opportunities

Stir beneath my fingers’ heat.

To move them now is such   

Slight a deed, indeed.

I won’t care for in morning;

This shepherd, that nymph,

And all wretched couplings,

That in moon’s pale stretch lies

A Rome till this ceiling

And a draped windowpane

Could still make a heart wring;

That a finger-painted sky

And the night’s velvety scent

As much cajoles my writing,

As probable a meteor rock is

To crash in a desire spring.

From yon crooked oak tree

To this glass of milk,

The paperballs belonging to me

Often land in that empty plot

To which one has no key;

Often hold some far-off tales

My pen fails to agree.

No passion flower, oak sprouts

No Echoes to repeat after

Such a winding soliloquy.

So in this turbid pool

I, myself, stoop to see.

A poem-maker subverts,

Again seeks bed’s embrace

To unlearn the secrets

I spent a lifespan to chase.

Prep school, one such place;

Approved only after leaving it,

Stabbing its entire rat race.

And in sodden roots of nature

Found my solace.

For only in past participles

My admiration has a face.

Sod's Law

Heart-shaped lessons from my parents,
Like pills for dreamless insomniacs,
I took a mouthful
And ended up making friends
They never approved of.

Galileo's Daughter

Moonlit the passenger seat,
My unconcern again resigns to
The dim-out of a frail hairpin;
The complaint if I ever listen.

The games you grew up playing
When block my view,
I single out and discover that
Breaking a nail isn’t overrated.

Till fences we watch scroll by
For their sake and for ours.
Theirs, for they disbelieve;
Ours, for we fall down as one

When in mist by your house
“Alright then” I pronounce,
A cinder past this implosion,
A star your eyelids rub out.

Autism

The syndrome may prolong my stir
But crossing any bridge, I admit,
For you a thousand times over
Wearies me not the slightest bit.

  

Playing Paris

Secretly with subtle care
Stares at you a fiend
Kingdom come is near,
Orbiting where you stand.

Girl of no words or fancy,
Hush is overrated flaw
Bat your eyes I can’t savvy
In fairness I rust in awe.

Delicate swirling motion
Pours wine in my outlines,
And I drown in confession
As wordless spell twines.

Stars shimmered in blight
Till the stony sill shone,
Sprouted the ghost white
Lilies In wasteland I own.

Met lone a tedious dawn
Unaware of all you missed,
Waxen feet blessed the lawn,
Pale chest inhaled the mist.

Lit my eyes the showers,
Raindrops on silver shanks,
Healing water and its powers
Couldn't compel the intent.

Gone leaves steps pressed,
Redemption I bestowed
To misguided girl blest
On a trip to a long road.

My lips and yours met
The scent of skin and curls
Won the war, glanced at
Wharton school for deaf girls.

A circle on the beach

Here hide and seek with you I play

As tranced shanks run afoul never

If sand lit upon morning's first ray

You’d seek to remain hidden forever.

 

Half-hearted Heartstrings

The dying night wills a pledge,

Jinxing me to second-guess,

Eyelids foresee a telling edge,

Where all so reasons undress.

Brought along your blindness,

Sweetened with a choking black,

Sleeps between us our emptiness,

We dream all that we lack.

Stars reflect on a hellenic skin,

And crescent, in your orbs I bury,

Deciphering my diary is the sin

I commit for some bad fairy.

While your dreams melt away,

Dissolving like the last candle,

I shiver and drowse it astray,

The sketchiness I couldn’t handle.

Soon this fabled night dies,

And always plays a stalemate,

You once slept in curious eyes,

Now I but sleep in a portrait.

Travelogue

Pages inked of fables muse your scent,
The last rose of winter & its fairytale,
Queen to moon elves in robes swanlike,
What mighty heart did you let unbent?
Amid the cold love of dragons & pike,
Grove, hill, highland we could dwell,
Alone must the stars be if ever I wail,
‘On parting steps did I script my hell?’

   

A Confessional

 

 

Father, I see why you feel unfamiliar

And don’t remember ever seeing me here.

Because there are no sins I commit,

Would you believe me? Funny, isn’t it?

Ok I copied quiz from the next seat hottie,

That’s because she was being naughty.

Her answer sheet just came in between,

While it was her cleavage that had me keen.

On his wife’s funeral he misunderstood,

Mr A overheard me telling it for his good,

That how’d he now wish to catch Parkinson,

Wobbly touch to self and job well done.

And Mrs Z was just unjust to be furious,

If on my privy tattoos her girl got curious,

Called me libertine, she crossed boundary

And left me to do but piss on her laundry.

I fell in their room like a heavenly light

Entertaining the two lezzies all night,

Jumped on trampoline, hair on forehead,

Saved them from dying virgin instead.

So Father, assure me of my innocence,

Baptize from what stains my brilliance.

Say again that I’m no culprit of apple bite,

All that happened was twist of fate, right?

The Undoing

Spin me some sad story

Sell me some excuse

To help me understand the things you do.

 

Lucy in Wonderland

If where this river dwells
Could afford a potent sea?
Would the acid she smells
Concede me an eternity?

Eyes once open, to the doors let me follow
Your quiet steps and let your candy woe
Be pencilled on my tongue. The undone
Fluids, adorned and bashful of the sun,
Slip underneath to do without the height
And trip us to the soils of Elysian delight.

When white flowers grow
Surreal on a cherry tree,
A flashback laves my row
To stay here, all over me.

As falls a night, garden wears dreamless,
Your tunes of clouded shadow harness
My rambling fancy by smoke downright.
And mix colours of doubts that might
Of distorted reality or impressionism art
A picture your tale airbrushed in my heart?

The last dose, the final kiss
Any split second may flee.
The rabbit-hole I failed to miss
Now misses a storm in me.


(She's better ^_-)

 

Will to pleasure

"If you ooze masculinity, like some of us do, you have no reason to fear pink."

~ Alfie

  

To Stella

Void of days uneventful
Foretold by misread fate
Culminates my residual
Sublunary awe of late.

Junipers of this fairyland
How diverge, converge,
Lilac of scents transcend
Your imitations surge.

So fervent is passion
To stroll untrodden leas,
The hopes of intervention
Deadens me in pleas.

Solemn sans the caress
Fraying, failing on cross,
All so desolate and as
Flowerless as a moss.

Hence even so I espy
Faces to mould, manifold,
Lest unbeknownst how I
To you shall be sold.

 

Sleeplessness

(Words I managed to pen 7 years ago. Back when the news of a certain woman's infertility did leave me with few. Childlike? I was, amateur? I am)

Not tonight,
Not tomorrow,
Not in this lifetime,
Revelations, not in the stars any longer.

Heaven is futile,
An eternal aisle,
Not lasting a while,
And hopes certainly rattle with a sound.

A broken room,
An empty cradle,
An obtuse poem,
Never enough to slay this quiescence.

Tears are cure,
Cure is unreal,
Reality is nonexistent,
The very own cabbalism of overnight life.

The bred silence,
A barren ambiance,
Change it all,
Or please, let her sleep for another night.

 

In all so seriousness

Only poets aren’t entitled to compose,
We con artists too with our two pennies
And tales as romantic as Monday mornings,
Sometimes we settle for bait than a catch.

Slight more than to what meets the eye
I always fall short to grasp my discourse,
As never do I go to bed with ugly wenches
Yet I sure have woken up with a few.

If the Crucifixion was for self-defense
I pen to bring forth a divinely comic me
So you may again get down on one knee
My two pennies on my beginner’s luck.

To land this playfulness to a sober end
I bid farewell to this joke unwitting
Unlike long ago I’d say ‘So long’ after
So long that no one would long any longer.


 

Memoirs of Kal-El

 

Lex Luthor: Clark, you can't save the world. 

All you'll end up with is a Messiah complex and a lot of enemies.

Clark Kent: I saved you, didn't I? That turned out all right. 

 

The lonely city candy affair

A pause in this loneliest city,
A dialog I add of footprints emerging
In chapter of turndown eternity.

Since I turn only to you undone,
In retiring light of the morning moon,
In stoic light of the evening sun.

It shadows my fairish glitter.
It blinds one if the sweetened white,
I’d shirk divorcing the mirror.

Shirk not envying the postman.
He pleases to please, ceases to cease.
For how your talk goes my pen.

The comfort I jilt of my shelter,
A bedpost and a seascape on the wall,
The universe for knocking later,

To become a mistletoe pendant.
On your oak where metaphors bloom.
My darling oxymoron, old friend.

On the bed cared-for when we lie,
Secretly open-eyed and close-hearted
In the compass of a needle eye,

Tickle not my fancy to flee often
To the slightest ice on the coldest lake!
Dilemma of half-lost, half-gotten.

Infant and redundant up the sky,
Down they blur to divide and conquer.
Sad! I can’t more than clouds cry.

Blurry streets I can’t but dread,
Where with each blink of my eye fades
The imprint of your silhouette.