Monday, January 28, 2008

A Winter Dream

A salty droplet trickles down his brow-
This urchin lives in some tropical land
Where effect of winter is ever low;
His weird frame lacks a tongue-
Hauling a soiled sack on his back,
Brown jaws volunteering an irksome song;
This tune wings in air travelling to some far away land
To land of fairies, land of emperors-
Will princess come to catch his dark dirty hand?
A familiar noise blew away my comatose self
Instilling consciousness by its recurring call
I never showed gratitude for its punctual help!
Reluctantly I rise up in the late morning-

Having consumed another chilly night of my life
I creep out of my warm quilt with a heart full of disgust;
I’ve to start acting like a photocopier,
Have to loop the same circuit again and again-
No notion of which turn is going to be the last.
In my land snowflakes don’t fall like shower
Even in mid January, ice-cold time of the year;
A monsoon land it is, we are inborn afraid of cold;
We take beer out of fear from early December-
A deep incarnation of western hold!
Oh this is my problem with this season
My eyes have got stuck with one another-
A real hazard for a late riser
I need the eye drop now for quick medication;
Problem is intensified; me a blind for the moment,
I can’t recall where I kept that last morning-
Is it in the bedside drawer or the study shelf?
I need it badly, but to whom should I ask for help?
Meanwhile I keep rubbing my eyes
With the restless right hand, wet even in winter-
My focus changes all of a sudden by someone’s
Unruly pressing of my doorbell like a stringless guitar-

I step out of my door with an authoritative walk
I wonder by gazing at the falling yellow leaves,
Bored monotony of cuckoo quavers my feet and
The ominous autumn in mid winter steals my talk-
Defoliating leaves spoils my furry gown,
Dusty breeze furrows my soft shaved cheeks,
I sweat under sun emitting fowl body odour
And my fair skin gets tanned brown-
I panic in sudden transmutation-
A heavy load bows me down to the soil,
My space seems to have changed-
A mirror showed me my vulgar orientation.
I keep crawling down 17, dream street
With a hungry heart to reach the Reality unleashed…


-littleWriter

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Bastard Speaks

You people call me a tainted soul
Just for being a drunken bloke,
Flying with soaring cocaine dose
And mingling with low-cost whores-
What else I do, would you tell me please…
I never peeped at your house,
Never thought to torture your brood
Nor spent a night with your spouse-
Hey, you’re talking of Jen!
Do you know her man?
She deserved that one night stand,
Jen was of that midnight brand-
And you call me the father
Of what she had hatched!
My throat was alcoholic then, so
Didn’t give her the mother’s badge-
She was a headless bitch to bear
The silly pregnancy headache
As I did never make a vow
To be a committed cock of her chick-
Another bastard born from blue
And I curse Jen for the mishap;
And now you’re pleading for Julie?
Of all I met, she was the most silly-
She left her job at the roadside pub
And dived in the lunacy of settling
With a hooked sex-freak like me;
The later tragedy is known to thee-

Living the life of a stray dog,
Hiding my face in dark section
Of society untouched by civilian-
For this enigmatic position, I curse
My mother for she denied an abortion.
I get desperate to spit at her dead soul
And piss at her shabby coffined womb-
That disloyal bitch sucked all pleasure
Along with that bastard in their youth
Turning all happiness stored in my fate
Into this obnoxious thorny explicit truth.
Since I got my consciousness, my ears
Have been tampered a million times
With the sarcastically presented scandal
Revealing how this fucker came into life-
Yea birth’s my blunder, it’s my first crime.
Since then crime has been my passion;
My legendary versatility is continuing-
Dagger and drugs are my professional aid,
Only faithful dealer of my daily bread;
Rape and molestation are my compulsion
Like cutting of woods to a carpenter,
But a long way to go, who’ll accompany-
Oh this Jamaican whiskey has the flavour,
It’s a transsexual illusion, I’m alcoholic forever.


-littleWriter