Flower Wreath
Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Literature, Love, poetry, Self-Help

Pride of A Flower Wreath

Weaved with a lot of skill and compassion

Oblivious stood erected in disdain 

Persian turquoise, Indian indigo…

You name it, and I had flowers of different valleys

Bathed in egotism, adorning-robe of pride

Relishing my pristine appearance, while

Scorning others, self gloating was my sin

Sure of my fate, to be embellished at 

reception decor Of heavenly virgin bride, 

I Spoke meticulously the tongue of vanity,

My artisan a blind simpleton 

Crafted me with great virtuosity 

A connoisseur of colors, arranged

Silk flowers with tears filled with pity 

But I basking in the glory of self adulation 

Elated, high browned  looked down on him.

On other customary bunches, turn after turn

Dates after dates,  final day arrived wrapped in laced

White Upholstery, escorted in a black Lemo

to a town of a black widows, shrieking wailing 

unwelcomed my arrival, roughly handled and bruised 

was placed on a coffin of one senile old man, whose

only act of courage was a piece of land where he 

was to buried.

 

Advertisements
One thousand and one deaths
autumn, Nature, poetry

One Thousand & One Deaths

am ready for the one thousand and one death,

unhurried torturous and slow painful even to grotesque

death, which I’ve embraced multiple times without

any peevish complaints of my fate, trampled and

trodden in the jarring folds of hefty Earth.

Since my conception in the unfathomable wombs

of rusty mud I carried within my exposed heart

an aching fright of the howls of shrieking winds.

Today  I lie decomposed a bleached carcass, a

bulbous mass of my former-self, insipid and pale.

The spectators can witness the mutilations of thousand

deaths incised on my bare veins as the raucous Earth

continues to compress me in her piercing buckles

grinding meat-loaf in an absurd Sisyphean procession

a futile, all a vain exercise, as I will rise again from

my frugal ashes, oozing out my aimless head born

from the vaginal tubes of the ashy soil, with a numbing

terror of the waling winds of sweeping autumn. Born

once again to die another one thousand and one deaths

just enough to cover a full circle.

.