Life’s worth is captured
in minuscule moments,
which one lives.
No existence is dignified
nor stands on a merit or meter.
The worth lies in
that humble feeling
of being Alive.
Life’s worth is captured
in minuscule moments,
which one lives.
No existence is dignified
nor stands on a merit or meter.
The worth lies in
that humble feeling
of being Alive.
Joyful is a human heart
aware that sorrow and joy
are two strokes of life’s art.
For the heart neither groans
nor shows any frown.
It struggles but wrestles on,
the grief of friends who are forever gone.
Heart is a traveller which dwells
in the crowd but wanders alone.
Today once again in
a celebration of a beauty
so ordinary, blew me a candle.
Ordered a velvet cake
smeared some face paint.
Put on those choo heels
and performed ablutions to Medusa
The goddess of our kinds
hollowed eyes, sunken cheeks
Frizzy hair, flabby flesh
Sagging bosom, plunging neck
Echoing an average tale
Of a working woman’s face
Not your usual Grecian model
Nor Venus, nor Aphrodite,
No circassian wasp-waisted
beauty embellished in Indian jewels
but very own pin-up doll in
the living room just back from
Nine to five shift, sultrous
hot and sweaty as hell,
Crownless queen of a
Bankrupt sultanate, a familiar
Unsung belle in the kitchen of your harem
Tinkling copper pot and pans,
Ruffling golden knives and forks
Castrated in a golden cage
Woman of a ruined withered ottoman sultan. “ I’ll give you kiss
and show you my moves
first let my water my plants…”
I know not…
Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?
As I stood on a tortured sea-shore
and cast my eye on the swollen waves
passionately kissing my naked feet
making love to me with a brutish force
taking me in its azure vinyl embrace
slowly grasping my flaming flesh with
a fiery I’ve never known before,
an uproar a stir in my fragile body
exhausted since centuries of decay
the foamy saline waters entering in me
through all nook and corners, fissures and holes
mixing in all the violent blues with the
crimson reds, crawling stealthily like million
serpents, wriggling gushing upwards
Oh! a sensation a loud roar within
a rapture somewhere, an euphoric elation
an electric jolt worth thousands bolts!
My enslaved body in an act of consummation
so strong, my heart-ached, soul-shuddered
at the violation so brutal, like a hapless bird
caught in a nib of a savage Falcon from the
far-east, I let it happen without any contest
Why? Because I possessed it too and let loose
the cinders of ancient fire burning in me
for I didn’t surrender, and let it go on without
a single doubt or shame nor did I curse
the gods above, knowing that no desire is
mightier than the other, for yearnings
have the same frenzy everywhere.
But I know not…
Was it a dream or a drowsy opiate slumber?
Suddenly like a whiff,
he was gone…
and I became very sad
searched for him in
dark ink stains and
tear-drops.
I think I just lost
him…
He was gone…
Time has witnessed the many trials
of your life, you often felt a little more than what you saw. It’s about time you kneel down to your self, give yourself a little pat on the back, smile and move on. When you find yourself lost in the raven hours, remember the Tolstoyian words often rings true; God watches everything but waits for his turn.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Time has witnessed the many trials
of your life, you often felt a little more
than what you saw. It’s about time my
friend you kneel down to your self,
give yourself a pat on the back, smile
and simply move on.
When you find yourself in the raven hours, remember Tolstoyian words often rings true;
God watches everything but waits for
it’s turn.
“Health is more than about what you are eating. It’s what you are thinking, saying and believing.”