It is wise to be foolish
but so foolish to be intelligent
It is wise to be foolish
but so foolish to be intelligent
In all things of nature,
there is something
of the marvelous.
Having feasted past-midnight, Persian Laila got up lazily at the stroke of twelve. Wearing her sparkling tiara, she rose with a numbing headache resultant of a hangover,
Caused by the left-over French champagne that she drank greedily from the China glass of her Benevolent master.
Her master’s darling she occupied a special place in his cozy lap and abhorred the site of her pot-bellied mistress,
For Laila considered her as a staunch-competitor and purred when ever she dared come near especially at long intervals of midnight drinks .
She would adorn herself on the left thigh of master and lick heavenly nectar only from the corner his pinkish wrinkled hands.
A site to behold midst bubblingchampagne and the smoke of expensive Cuban cigars. Her blue eyes drunk with envy and rage, she fought hard and with everyone for her master’s attention.
On rare occasions of evening strolls, she would walk with snobbish air and displeased countenance on the cobbled streets of rustic New York.
Looking down with disdain on all other pussies in the town, as she deemed them to be too causal and boring in the appearance,
For Laila came from the Persian peninsula from the house of the grand pasha of Azerbaijan, her great-grandmother the dark-eyed Hoorie was a favorite of the sultan-Suleiman.
And what a cherished presence on all matters important of every concern but was slain on one moonless night by the jealous ladies of Sultan’s Harem.
All were fine, till troubles started to brew, for master was a man of excess and one Persian damsel was not enough and yearned for another beauty to occupy the vacant right thigh!
So brought a petite French this time, Annabella who had a legacy of her own, for she came-from the family of Master pastry chef, Monsuier Jean Paul employed in the house of King Louis XII.
Both pussycats couldn’t look each other in the eye for both was endowed with looks and style to charm any.
One fine day while the master was away, in a brawl with each other both got their tails entangled, the mistress had enough and decided to sail one of them away…
And who better than the Persian Laila, for she was never in her good books. Hence a plan was hatched and poor Laila was swiftly hurried off to live with an old woman in quite a corner
Of the town and master was told a tale of how she eloped with neighbor’s Valentino who had-no history to boast of.
Annabella now the reigning queen while Laila spent her time remembering the days of glory gone by.
Your ruby blood in mine,
a pure ecstasy,
melting of skins.
As I sighed, the breath took a curve
and emerged in two,
leaving behind zillion dew drops;
settling at the corners
of my parched mouth.
Crystalizing the moment in time.
On the broadway called Life ,
actors were many;
but the spectacle
Some kisses were,
hurled but the
warmth was missing.
In the dark corner of the house adorned a crimson hued Tabrizi rug,
gifted to me as the wedding present, imported from the mountains;
of Hindu-Kush, embellished with poppy flowers and lovers’ passionate hugs
Violet borders bejeweled with a fine needlework of embroidered springs.
Especially handcrafted from the hands of a virgin maid with lofty desires
Intricately woven with the woolly knits and exquisite twisted golden wires
So how it became a constant companion in my otherwise blissful nuptial voyage
taking the shape and creases of my body in its crimson folds, so clairvoyant
We both grew to confide and embrace each other on moonless nights
During the dark nights I would hear vague cries and faint sighs
And would awoke by the silent sobbing and consistent choking sounds
The tormenting shrills one makes when inflicted with a fresh wound
After long desperate searches in the eerie neighborhoods in vain
I decided to hunt down the sniveling offender on a night when it rain
As I searched and rifled, discovered it came from the joints of the rug
Deep with in the sews of silverfish anklets and bangles, felt as if on high drug
Veiled and shackled a gaunt silhouette appeared in the woolen cracks
Thickened clots of cherry blood from bruised hands left its tracks
The sobbing sounds grew louder and a known voice pierced through
“My virgin hands intricately weaved the wires of gold and silver to woe
I dared to dance with my heart’s desire with men of different tribe
A misconduct for which I was to be buried-alive in sews and imbibe
Frozen embalmed in the embroidered joints I came back from death
When your warm saline tear cascaded in my mouth I finally took a breath”
We became lovers of sorts, embracing on moonless nights,
Fasted and prayed on our Tabrizi rug, shed tears, took gentle sighs
It became a seminary a refuge when her or mine master was around!
Until the inauspicious day of a long lunar month when we both were found
Castrated for our naked sins, she was burnt while I was forever hound!
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.
“ 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.