Wedding Carpet
feminine, Humanity, Kindness, Compassion, Love, Nature, poetry

THE WEDDING CARPET

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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

man
Inspiration, life, poetry, Uncategorized

I Am A Sucker!

Yes life hurls stones and pebbles

fate bombards proxies, follies

phonies but hold on….

I am a sucker for one more!

I devour failure like a hungry

homeless for I’ve nothing to eat

so I gulp every failure down my

parched throat till the-bitter liquid

of failure syncs-with the juices in

my emaciated stomach…

Oh! It churns, it widens but I ask

for more, I ask for more! I am a

sucker for all the losings humans

are capable of! I tasted sweet

success this morning when I took

that hard stone on my heart,

laughed at one more lie, swallowed

one more bitter pill, devoured

one more failure down my throat!

I am a sucker!

Great Land
History, Inspiration, Legend, Literature, Love, Nature, poetry

The Great Land

Standing in the land of the great Apaches

Midst blooming wild poppies

and the mammoth elephant grasses,

thinking of the dream that once Martin Luther had.

May be the days of  chivalric Camelot are over,

as I heaved reclining on the grand arm chair;

vicious winds from the North gushed 

echoing footsteps of a massive feet

opening a narrow pass for the

grim shadow of Lincoln to flicker by,

leaving behind trails of the Fallen Soldiers

on the path once trodden by the

fierce Indian Tribes.

Gypsy
life, satire

Performance

Appearances kept to disguise

the gaunt silhouette 

inside, mindless words

uttered to subdue

million cacophonies of shrunken

brains, smiles and more smiles to

contain the pools of burgundy

pain, plastic tulips 

silver cutleries and the glorious 

dead shrimp lying in bed of frozen

sprouts while giving away

the performances 

of life-time. 

 

Mysterious melody
poetry, satire, sensual, woman

Madam Neverhurry’s Mysterious Malady

Madame Neverhurry cousin

of  Gustav Flaubert’s

Mrs Bovary,awoke at past 12

Suffering from a malady

Known as melancholy,

Casts her glance on the

Day’s chore, bored puts

The blinds back on, deciding

To have some high tea,

Summons, mischievous elves

On fire wings impatient

Yells “to get lost and bring

Forth aromatic mint tea with

Hazel nuts three or four”

On first command the elves

Disappeared, conjuring

A mysterious tea in glasses

Of crystal while the Madame

Put powders and billows,

adorning her buffet with

One Exquisite Ostrich feather

competing with the slopes

of Alps, all while thinking of

day’s chores and bitchy gossips

to be done which caviar to

be served with what exotic wine

at customary evening suppers

while discussing a mysterious

malady  possessing modern ladies

known  something as depression

so much work to do all 

in a day, madam fainted

at 1 while still in satin beds

Personal elves hurried worried

Bellowing some wind trying

to revive with peacock

fans, “oh poor madam,

suffering pangs of

melancholy once again”

 

( Dedicated to all my beautiful women who loves to get up past noon)