WISH...

My non-essentialized Dream-Self contemplates inheriting that anarchic cornucopia of barbed-wire tattoo rings, limbless clock-faces and a pretty little concrete garden where You wouldn't insist on nurturing your safety-valve rose buds of Reverence.

THE FIGHT

But finally, our lane of beggared nights would conduct under the democratic gaze of a street-lamp, ennobling shuffling-ups, of tales infinite; each such tale petitioning teary-eyed for glorious Representation, most threatening in razor-sharp prose for absolute Promotion; while crawl forth the winners, unassumingly resplendent on all fours, our street-dogs stray, as abandoned as the night-time, charming each same-same night with their uber-human Otherness.

HEAT.

Of Love Lessons learnt, this shall be the darkest instance;

When flippancy in winds gains not a petal of sincerity,

For deceptions infinite latch onto Life, emblems of impermanence,

With a petal a day forfeiting breath, without a fight.  

Thus sobered wind practices hard Constancy,

Binding up the flutter of a leaf, glaring upon shadow-pockets of sweet respite,

All for an embalmed Adoration, to be tediously bought.

While perspiring bricks scream:

“Heat, we love you not!”

BLACKNESS

Of a morning’s rampage through the mute night,
An abrupt unsheathing of sense
With bullying headlights scavenging among stillness.
Of such mornings that prophesy dead ends,
Days unnaturally begotten, dragged forth by flight schedules and clock-sirens,
When stubborn Purpose measures moments whistle by whistle,
With the ardent heart bonding illusory narratives of a time beyond Travel;
Then shall her prayer-head knelt over steering wheel relinquish the Present,

But body-bags of triumph remain,
To usher in darkness, of interrupted nights swarming back into the skies,
Asserting-
'For she died, with black sleep in her eyes'.

THOUGHTS ON A LEAP YEAR.

The perfect day, Today, for effecting the perfected death;
Blanch walls been stamped enough with black-lettered noughts and crosses
Battle-pits all, crayoned and grid-locked, sprouting designless.
Some such comical chronicle of inane violence
with gallant noughts and crosses playing fillers to a four-yearly wait,
shall finally aid in charting out a death-sentence:
This death, self-tuned and demanding reverence.

Thus today, when your shadow is rolled up with finality’s flourish,
you know the memorial shall be grand,
divested as it is from the everyday of the every-year;
Celebrations of your absence, to be observed with overwhelming relish.

BREACH

What to make then of this breach made manifest?
A breach ever-distending
Across a fabric caught disrobing;
This fabric: scripted with precision, meant for decorum
Now nursing a hunger homewards-bound
With defector knives and forks ploughing through my disciplined Self;
Myself, disheveled.
This Self, cracked from end to end,
Brooding at stubborn blind lanes for Your self’s coherence.

DREAMS

All you thoughtless thoroughfares erupting under laserbeam awnings,
Yawning forth billboards on a whim,
With disembodied voices fashioned to mock a private prayer calling from boom-boxes perched atop telegraph poles,
Selling you dirt cheap that life across this street; pretty as a pamphlet-
Your neighbour's retreat.