“ I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being.” -Hafiz
Fat cellulite everywhere,
not an inch have I lost from
tried and tried!!
Tasted every waters of
hot springs from the
blue coasts of Sardinia to
the sulphuric lakes of India.
Left & skipped the ever-flowing
ruby wines from the promised
Slayed butchered every lean-
turkey and the farm fed chicken
that came in that way,
cruelly snatched with my
bare hands the last golden egg
that popped from the Mother Hen
just to lay my hands on
that holy protein.
While the scornful Angus
blocked and locked horns
in the ivory door.
Dejected I tried my luck just
one more time and fasted
till the sultry noon which turned into
The Last Supper of the day!
Some exist a wise clown,
dwelling peacefully in
the grim garbs of a jester.
Sprouting often exquisite pearls,
of wisdom here and there;
somewhere in between the
words that men consider banal.
While few exist intellectual
suffering peevishly in the
golden robe of a wise man.
Shackled enslaved by their
pretentiousness, declined and despised
by their intellect. Banished and
forever cursed to measure each word
with someone’s rhyme and meter.
Those who like to wallow,
in the noise of their
voices, can’t float in the;
stillness of silence.
Tired and exhausted as I batter life,
you’ve embraced me again with your;
small talks and effervescence.
A piece of great land even loftier
tales, you’ve tied me hard.
When I run far away to escape
the dreary stormier seas.
And embarked on long voyages
to the lands of one Bedouins,
and golden dunes,
I knew I’ll come back
one more time.
The fear is not of drowning in your eyes,
nor sinking in those pools of translucent dews but
of being abandoned at the sides of your lips
by the myriad tear-drops.
Tiny little droplets of desires,
evaporating on the
wings of bluish helium;
like morning dew.
Life a struggle, to extract honey
out of sacks of wild weed.
Disguised in the
hollow curves of
your eloquent words,
do I hear a vicious
hissing ; whispers of
a conniving heart?
Why do I visualize
a serpentine on the rock?
I’m not beguiled by
your deceptive talks.
By the tinkering of your
For I’ve on my hump back
burden of enough winters
to mark a
Devil in a sea of Men.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”