Innocuously unconscious...

The morning light was not enough to enlighten her,
The day the elements of my dream died,
Wearing a dead shroud of indifference over their tattered bodies and crushed spirits,
Using their newly acquired air of individuality to stop the infection from spreading...

There were days she used to bleed for them,
There were days she made a new world of stories with her tears,
There were days she questioned their unity and separation,
Now those days have broken with the break of my dreams and wake of my lids...

The lovers, with their deeper lust and intense attachment,
Feared as their fatal attraction ceased into a pitch black void,
The companions, who bore the other half of the dead souls and beautiful bonds,
Watched as once merry monotony was now a far fetched memory,
The nurturers with their fusion of life, care and separation,
Now watch as their creation enter another world...

She watched from another dimension of the skies,
Mourned in her sleep,
As she woke her tears were bone dry,
Psyched by the heavenly icy cold cold lullabies...

They waited for time to turn just so that they could reach out to her,
They showed her sights, sounds and seasons from her childhood,
A couple of decades ago but long lost in altered perception,
Even tried moments of breaking her into the past that never was,,,

She now ceased to believe that they were living beings imbibed with emotion and ambition,
More so mere characters in her dreams,
Bold and beautiful as well as dark and grimy,
Mere puppets of her unconscious side of the coin,
Who watched as she died many deaths,
Who wilted away as she was reborn with numerous lives...      

Islands...

We have now chosen to forget,
Urges that made our blood boil once upon a time,
In an island, surrounded by the sea of disguise,
Masked by the profuse bleeding of vessels that cut against the flow,
Silently washed away and awaiting revival...

Alas, the torch of love had ceased,
As we chose to forget unresolved anger,
As we generated hatred from unrequited love,
As we chose to alter the verdict from crimes of passion,
As long lost lovers communicated by the winds of vain...

Not dead but long forgotten,
As we chose to visit the ghosts of the pasts,
Now dancing around the maddening fire that our secrets had created,
Swirling around what once defined our world,
Surrounded by the darkness  of time that passed...

As we dreamed to escape land,
We drifted into the sea of clutter,
Uncluttered by rich stimuli,
The erotica of life occured,
Just as we were whiling away our time...

Unravaled to be left in shambles

The antagonistic foster siblings of escapism has never quite unveiled itself,

Claiming to be a part of the unconventional cosmos of appeal,

The futility of ridicule is a subtle legacy,

The unrequited vengeance of my identity...

The mojo of an Earthling is still mortal after all,

Borne with colloquial charm.

The surge of a fantasy,

Embroils and acquaints itself with strangers far from being strange...

The morbidity of a taboo,

Is known to evoke an unspoken desire,

Self mutilates a metaphysical possession,

Surges within but still lampooning its virtuousness...

The freedom of the mind,

Is now familiar with the trans-morphism of the world,

Still nurturing idiocracy,

With silence that provokes uncredited revolutionary thought...

Our words have now surpassed even the best of the connoisseurs,

Still acquainted with the naivety of former possession,

Possession that has now diverged,

But has still chosen a similar kind of groove...

The coquettish reveries,

Expects to acquaint with procrastination,

Unleashes the bonafide wrath,

With the arbitrary ambiguity...

 

The last laugh...

The martyrs have weaken their stance, 

Subconsciously intimidated by the days of only wounds ahead,

Only moments to go until the march to glory,

The provinces of gold had intoxicated  them to the point of the sleep of reclusion...

The breeds of higher order have now not a reason to opine,

They begin their day with the solace of futility,

Commence to a voice of bigotry,

Until a different kind of transition...

For letters written in blood,

Have been defeated by the words inscribed in bonds,

Seldom acquainted with the world of gossip,

Placidly waiting in the numerous post offices of decay...

The time had begun for the fancy air of romance,

I will gift you a kiss if you please,

Embodied with the spirit of youth and glamour,

Made to suit carnal whims and mundane woes...

I shall wait for the end of your crude fantasy,

Which shall be made to sleep upon my arrival,

Awakened when I am away,

Which shall continue to torment you as you twitch and turn in your grave,

But not for too long...

Let me feed you copper candy,

So very fierce and inedible,

Let me occupy your senses with the scent of my love,

Superficial enough to slip away...

No impact has been as great,

As great as my non- existent significant other,

Who took me back to the rustic air of childhood,

As I grew many steps away from naivety...

Very few roots of passion have traced back,

The rest have faded away with the night,

Trampled on with time,

Burdened by mortality,

Just to suit the flow to the last laugh...

Windows...

Impulses of beauty are yet to strike the diverse visions of loneliness,
Faint and shallow visions of insecurities,
Pubescent joys welcome the coming of age,
Ambiguity is a tease at its best....

Intergalactic qualms of our minds,
Were devoid of the pleasure of solitude,
Greatly unaware of the inner world,
Under the robe of insolent strive.

The lingering scent of masked gratitude,
Not so sensual when claimed,
Contrary to adulterous mediocrity,
The forbidden fruit has come even closer...
 
 The world is a pendulum,
The protagonist possesses clandestine admiration for the antagonist,
The objectification of purity condemns lust,
Greatly unaware of its virtues...  


She wasn't attractive but she was beautiful!
The grenade of contempt has now been scattered into the land of indifference,
Replenished hope hovers over the mould and mask,
Deformed words adhere to the satire of nasty chance...

Image- ( sirjohnlawesart.blogspot.com )

Old Sparky...

You can't exert your will in no man's land,
When your only pursuit is survival,
Deranged poetic notes is a fight no one could withstand,
Death is no more an unholy rival.
When the fetish chamber contradicted the gruesome dungeon,
After all these generations you failed to pass an non stereotyped judgement...

Draped in a garish choice of words,
Lust fornicated the wrong town,
Your follies still mock your emptiness after all these years,
The walls of all bricks of good terms have been broken down.
Your threshold of pain has worn out by dusk,
A great deal of misfortune did not strike you only because you thought it must...

We're vexed with treachery,
Sick of damage,
Waiting for alchemy,
Formulated by the daily greats.
Bankruptcy has has fought the halo of no holy man,
Somewhere within the world of pain was an inkling of your own plan...

There has been no truce of that blatant kind of chaos,
A self thought angel to end their sufferings,
Wallowing has been know to mock the morrows ethos,
The exaggerated mystic pain that glamorises the starlings.
So though I feel demented it's actually because I'm dull,
For this is the very passage when the frolic does not swirl...

Let the impulses of love fill my heart,
Hormones of rational judgement be one with my bloodstream,
Let a normal state of mind vanquish any kind of shock,
A skit of black magic leave my dreams.
May the enzymes of good fortune rain upon us from paradise,
Punish them whose life was designed for a sacrilege union they wanted to jeopardise...

A spell without a glisten...

This solitary confinement of the soul,
Has conceived a very empty casket,
Has morphed into the epitome of beauty,
With a very individualistic definition...

The many oxymoron statements she's made,
Stirred up infinite amounts of laughter,
Bound by mockery,
Bears a certain amount of logic in the quiet...

A very indifferent state of mind,
A crashing state of Zen,
Leaving behind the baggage,
For light heart aids the transcend...

The etiquette seems to have revamped itself,
Because the origin of the species,
Creates a foundation,
Unaware about the present of the squad...

The offspring that we must protect,
Ponder on what lies in between life and death,
For every one's a mutant in their own terms,
Now the muddled assumptions shall be forgotten..

A very demented sort of placidity,
Has ceased the flow,
Our wishful thinking informs us that the colours shall be unleashed,
For all the world feels like a bound pariah...

Faux Pas...

As midnight had opened its doors,
We entered the fortnight of denial,
Greeted by midgets of placidity,
That writhed in vain,
The entourage of illusions of prosperity...

Little percussions of euphoria,
Walks hopelessly in the clouds of treachery,
Witnessed by the solemn territory of our gait,
On this very nonchalant Earth,
Shelters the inhabitants that delude themselves for the spite of elevation...

In this very kingdom of appeal,
A flaw is the bastard child of the will of perfection,
Born with vain,
Borne within lies,
Glamorises the dark deeds of the living...

Peace is the truce of strain,
Complacent solace with the fire of mankind,
A sin left behind thrives to follow,
Until it rests in the cavern of the relative afterlife...

Painting by Vladimir Kush.

Web of lies...

One- third of a kiss,
For a weekend of bliss,
One-fourth of your dream,
To seal the deal,
A little bit of life,
Just to soothe a juvenile mind,

To morn woke us with the responsibility we never chose to partake,
An opulent reason to slouch,
Scarred inspiration that impaled our vain,
As we run from the perfectionist dictatorship,
You're never too old to run...

So what does it take,
To go from Satan's derriere to Cupid companion,
But then again we're unique designs of nasty tapestry,
Sloshed by the lies we've spun,
We preserve actual kisses in a nebulous womb...

Right from a withered mire,
Born beneath the prophecy of untamed fire,
Lies that have conceived tears,
The elitist fancies that have masked our mysterious shenanigans,
Mascara to mask the clarion of fury within us....

Isolation has created a triumph new world,
A little star of inception,
Wicked icicles that fall upon us just before we have usurped our right to passage,
My stormy mind fails to glean the dream,
Sanity brings laughter right along to soothe my repentance...

The darkest of nights,
Within the deepest of shells,
The reminisce of yet another illusion,
The temporal of dreams,
Backfired when you never predicted you'd need to brace yourself....

I snort the winds of sleep,
I stay lost in a momentary lachrymal song,
Alert not to fall prey to labial seduction,
Melancholy entered my kraal and disturbed my placidity,
So as they say, kudos to fate...

( Edward Munch- Ashes)

The midnight oil...

We walked amazed by haze,
Ready to win the battle we formerly lost,
Now as I unravel the real warrior,
The lie begins to show...

A pure mockery,
Harmony embraces acceptance,
Now lets cajole rigidity with intoxicating words,
I hereby unite with another gruesome story...

Is the flare hidden,
Or do we fail to glow?
But I assure you shall be illuminated,
After you clean the surface...

Now as the secrets are revealed,
We speak the unspoken ,
We burst the bubbles of our virtues,
Now the spirits have woken...

Now let your mind project,
The illusions of the burnt midnight oil,
The mirror shall always be a reflection of your horse-shoe smile,
Stirring of vacant laughter rings scornful bells...

For in a decade we thaw this frozen seduction,
You shall then hear the bustle of this sirens stilettos,
You shall feel the passion of her Aphrodian dreams,
So oblivious of that little slip...

For its just one right of passage,
That shields you from brutal crossroads,
So we can mock the shadows of loss,
Welcome the ghosts of a dead dream into the chambers of denial...

A numb veil,
Shall accompany me to the furnace of my identity,
Waiting to tantalise me to a different time,
There goes the otherwise tempestuous focus....

( Painting by Edward Munch)

Nebula...

Starlets live in the midst of stardom,
Those hollow lights of wisdom,
Dreams born out of wedlock,
Now, we've got just the reflection to mock...

Those love affairs I've had with the phases,
Those momentary blazes,
It's in the air,
Waiting to emerge from fates own stairs...

The brutal highways,
So frayed is love which is my way,
The passion of the Equator,
The statue that pricked the creator...

Handwritten inscriptions of love,
Engravement is the ultimate lust,
Dust that spells the name of the forgotten,
Grief that drifted away for good into the horizon...

Picture from the net _ ( hesperia.gsfc.nasa.gov)

Limbo of a dream...

This is the casket where I have pieces of elevation,
They'll arrest your movements,
They'll countermand the plans of resurrection,
Where have you left your conceited grin?

Climb these walls of mystery,
Soon you shall witness the striptease of life,
Now suddenly your pampered within the folds of glory,
Now you've begun foreplay with the sweet afterlife...

A little glimmer could illuminate your path,
Now you've got just four days for the battle,
You're battlefield is going to be a little more cerebral than your love struck heart,
Or else you're just one of those mortals...

-Pre board poetry.

Picture from the net- ( thinkfeelplay.com )

Indian summer...

No armour of dignity could soothe the pain of the summer months,
When we lost the connection to touch,
There were blind colours in the wind,
Bringing us closer to our subtle sins...

They danced on copper,
They deceived holy followers,
But they were resistant to glass,
Inclined to the mask...

They swore by their dreams,
Swayed by the mean,
Raved about despising the evil,
Until they saw unfurled thrill...

They stood strong during the French Revolution,
Don't scream, you'll change the constitution,
Why was monotony your shield to light,
When you had to dream to survive?

( Skull by Van Gogh)

Hollow wallow

This dungeon is strange,
With a passage of grey,
Artless shadows that hover in its very essence,
The creek of life and death is so narrow,
To live this eccentric analogy...

Crops of disintegration were sown in the soil of the beast,
While my flower got rotten in utter disgust,
His stem wasn't enough to comfort me,
There's only an angle of depression from here...

I shall osculate this nutrition,
Introspection for the agriculturist and philosophers,
I shall assimilate all its power,
I want to cease the fire of resurrection...

Deep beneath our mother,
There is this magnet,
This core of civilisation,
Waiting to be elevated to the celestial ocean...

The salt of the waters of immersed fate,
That explores this crystal,
It can cast hate,
The germs that can battle for the crucifiction of dawn...

Wind that has gone deeper into the hollow,
While the lights want to battle sorrow,
While a different casket opened the casket to another world,
But then a shadow was left to wallow...

Picture from the net- ( amazingonly.com )

Glasnost...

A stroboscopic shadow of fear,
In the cistern of the battle,
Popped the cherry of this lonely heart,
In a nonchalant slumber...

In the rain of fury,
On the chair of passion,
In the armour of repentance,
The motility of religion...

A Casanova when basked with smiles,
In this secret crusade called love,
Oh obtrusive Padawan,
Don't fade when exposed to the rain...

To recognize the elevated mystery,
In this array to find passion,
When one day you shall see,
So many strings trying to get a hold to bliss...

So when the martyrs put up a fight,
So astringent with glee,
There's a certain steed that leads us to the stubborn fire and then cries,
You shall not be soothed with the steam of sycophancy.

Love bound in this wed of dreams,
Cheers to this dazed breed!
That black bolt that struck us at an accelerated pace,
So today, should I say peace or hallelujah?

Oh lord I see to know this creed,
Draped in the translucent colours of the mask,
They have the gleam of the sun,
Yet they're so lost in sinister lust...

The shell...

The skies looked down,
For the glee had started,
For now and forever,
The skies look down at the shell of pleasure...

Within the weed of music,
Embraced by the atmosphere of fertility,
Of the hollow for the beams of light,
Of the sturdy walls of seduction...

Welcome to the home of pleasure,
Only step in if you're obliged to enter,
But then again that depends on the emotive night,
Can you send the chills down my spine?

Pleasure set out like a pathway,
Aroused by the beams of an illusion,
Waiting for the rain of unison,
The lubrication for population...

Step out if you're not there,
Or else you shall be greeted by dry ice,
Frozen by cold eyes,
Can't be thawed by the ransom for love...

So the doors shall open,
For the sprinkle of love,
In contempt of infatuation,
In the mystery of hate...

Pearl in oyster,
Beam of glee,
Humidity flares within the crescendo,
Only if you're obliged to join the obbligato...

Sunday morning...

Today what I see is the aftermath of yesterdays haze,
With savory virtues the storm had walked into my colossal hearth,
Waiting to fill me in the cauldron of delusional ways,
While I'm in the reverie of cannabis and grass.

To fry sausage,
What about the lost nutrition of the night?
I'm not that bold for the solidity of an omelet,
For tomorrow I shall be unfurled in the chaos of the maze of fright...

I ran to my the chamber,
So save myself from a psychedelic tempest,
Too sweet to suit a mundane mans savour,
Too bitter for the zest.

I'd like to tantalize myself into this hazed objection,
For this fantasy has usurped me into its arms,
You see, I'm in the median of lucidity and an hallucination,
But, I'm too dazed for the qualms...

Days, weeks and months have gone,
The daily paper's a shower of pseudo intellectuals,
Time has now become a product of the rot,
Morphs the rust into fuel...

Picture from the net- ( http://dark.pozadia.org/wallpaper/Abstract-face/ )

Haze...

Rise from the tempest,
Disintregate to the stars,
The Emerging sublime beauty,
Wine from a complecent mortal,
The acceptance of holy gifts,
Created a drift between man and the creator,
When they fathomed the meaning of its virtue,
They realised the best gift was the hearth...

Picture from the net- ( people.rit.edu )

Raptures...

The morn of every night,
Mourns for the intercept of time.
These raptures of an unpredictable path,
They compose the archives of a joyous heart...

We are ultimately lead to the circle of love,
From the greetings above.
A splash of stars,
Lays somewhere between the horizon and hearth...

Where will you accept?
The graceful acceptance of a fragment of defeat for which they wept.
Auxiliary melancholy of time,
The ambidexterity of emotions leading us from a hollow to light...

Picture from the net- ( aviartnutkins.com )

Symbiosis...

That dance of a star,
Was gibberish to some,
Mesmerizing to the others,
Garish to vain...


The mockery of the moon,
Touches the modest veil of the Earth,
Ushers in contempt,
Mockery that depends on misdemeanors...


Embraced by a silver nebula,
Little pockets of accolades,
For some to assimilate,
For the others who have lost the right to live...