Sunday, 29 March 2009

O Chrysalis...!

O Chrysalis, never taint your wingless dreams,yet.
Never laugh out aloud before your voice finds base
And never haste to bloom forth, to be born infirm.

Life could often take away, all that worth of you
And often, most often, you'd gain more than the loss.
Yet, in all uncertainty, I ask-
Why, ache for the phocomelic desires,
Thwarted much before it sprouted wings?
Or, were it antlers?

Oh, mysterious perils and lopsided faith,
Why do I smile, always?

Ah! Tampered Warnings!

O Chrysalis, never drop your veil, out into the open.
Never shed your pupal scars, lest it wipe off your existence,
And no longer hide, when it is already too late.

Life may play peek-a-boo, yet camouflage not.
And do not ever drape the skin of exoticism,
Lest the goodwill hunt turn sour,
And I find you nectar less, shriveled?
Or should I exaggerate
And cry murder, foul?

Oh, defile thoughts and tarnished scruples,
Why do you make me twinge, always?

Ah! Unadulterated Guilt.

Sunday, 22 March 2009


Mirrored pain, dribbled unto you, nay?
From those closed crystal eyes,
Where you hold an expanse
Of unshelterled ache,
Across the ridge of your hook nose
Down to your parched lips,
Chapped and lifeless,
And finally dripping out
Unto my soul,
Cloaked, in a feathery quilt
Of pretenses.

The westerward winds blew hard,
And I clutched at my knight armour
Beneath which, I held safe
Your aching love.
The pins pricked at me,
And I felt the fluid ooze
Out of my windpipe,
Your eyes shut, I never tried to pry open
For, I do not want
A cascade of lavacious heat.

Drop down the cloak,
Or shed the layers-
I try not.
The bare soul might just kill
For, hollow it becomes,
In the absence of the ache
That fills, in sheer love.
If those pins could ease their way out
My love would flow out, draining me
And I'd bleed
In the dearth of fresh pain.
I need your ache,
I sustain in its shadow.

Some habits never die.
And when they do, they kill, nay?

Saturday, 14 March 2009

Song of Sweet Vengeance

Washed ashore, I am.

The lathered salty foam
Drapes my soul
Rugged and weary.
I breathe,
Pulling in gulps of air
From your punctured lungs
So full of Mockery.
And I rest
On your sands
Of Faithless Beginnings.

I hurt, and I lament.
For, I gave myself up
In faith, In Love-
To be drugged,
And tossed out of life
On a raft less ride
Across the seven seas.

And I can hear the blood
Course through me
And I can feel the Beginning
Of an End.
And I laugh out-

Don't you hear O' Dear,
The Song of Sweet Vengeance?

Washed ashore, I am.

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