This afternoon the judgment day arrived.
I stood on the weighing scale and sighed!
That limping broccoli chicken is no magic,
numbers on the silly machine was tragic.
Shoved a forbidden burger in bulging belly,
vowing to throw that sucker scale
down the high valley.
My little lippo lappy
has missed passwords
and emails again ,
I feel this computer business
is nothing but in vain.
Yearn those days of Camelot
when paper and pen were
still a thing…
Now the screen is all blink blink,
I guess my heart will sink.
Little lippo lappy hurts like a bee-sting.
I wonder, what about this magical lore?
Of my face a sunshine that thou shall adore.
Me a fair bosomed countenance of heavenly sight!
Now hurry me a kiss and don’t be a bore.
( Your very own next-door Monalisa)
Old Betty went to the bakery shop,
but pre-meditated plan was cut-short;
when upon discovery, the shop was closed.
The old Betty dignified, always composed
hatched a plan and ordered stuff online,
while gazing at the gems of river Rhine.
She has-time, yes she can still shine,
now that all her chores are online.
I would do anything for love,
but I won’t pick trash,
or cook anything tonight.
Ms. Matilda woke past the noon,
swooning to the Beethoven’s sad tune.
A mysterious ailment swipes,
over the modern women of her types.
These curious cases of daddys’ princesses,
of colossal estates and multiple mates.
Are inflicted with malady of swinging moods,
making them shudder at matchless boots.
Ms. Matilda sitting still in her bedclothes,
howled remembering how at,
the party last night, enemy women clapped
secretly when her golden heels zapped,
and as her crimson lipstick chapped;
she knew her teddy heart is in for a snap.
Pulsating beats,
again a trigger,
although smiling
Inside I know,
It is again out
to get me.
Mr. Fly I know you have a story too,
but forgive I’ve some things to pursue.
For once raven nights are no time my
friend to buzz and tell me why?
So Mr. Fly flutter , flap and fly away
go suck the nectar of a flower,
request you to never hover;
mistaking whiff of attar, for a floret.
I can’t tolerate and ignore it anymore.
Reminds of the Nash who spoke the
truth ,“ God in his wisdom made the
fly and then forgot to tell us why.”
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.
Fat cellulite everywhere,
not an inch have I lost from
anywhere.
Keto-Sheeto Vegan-Keegan
Omni-Carni, Raw-Thaw
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
golden grail.
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!
