Sunday, June 14, 2009

Poetry of My Portraits

The whole day I work with my brush and canvas
I squander a lot of colours like
Violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red
Saturating my six by four space
And robustly endowing it visual trust-

I'm not the God but I want to be
To feed those famished lips in my portrait;
So much misery in the world,
The sorrow of million world links,
How can my six by four hold all of thee-

My hands try hard painting hours after hours
Giving life to a dead man,
Animating a cloth less mother with her kid,
Boosting a pony for its first leap…
Sharing the loneliness of a cursed whore-

Now at last I've rejuvenated the dead man,
The poor mother is now breast feeding her child;
The white pony frolicking over green meadow;
All looks content but the impatient keep-
I've made her helpless without her man-patron…

Conscience pricks me to motivate the man reborn;
And to veil the naked mother with a queenly mantle;
And to call for the mother horse to guard her pony-
Let there be a man on the bed of the waiting mistress,
But I notice the canvases have turned unalterable stubborn-

Only work left for me is to hang them in an exhibition
To nourish my own stomach and creative identity;
While picturing I've thought enough for those needy,
Now my hands are weary, mind is bogged and hungry;
Till my canvases are sold I'll suffer impatient irritation-

Thousand art lovers visit my exhibition –
An intellectual describes the man in his own way,
An economist expresses grief for the nude mother,
A child compares my pony with his comic's character
And a materialist travels to a land of fantasy prostitution-

I return home crediting my fiscal and psychological account
With some inspiration, desperation and aspiration
For stirring my colour soaked brush again over a clear canvas;
In my sleep I sense the divine touch of Jesus and see
Michelangelo portraying me on the Sistine chapel's ground...


- littleWriter

Friday, May 1, 2009

Stick No Bills

There’s a dusk again-
Wings giving their final strokes;
Redness accumulating on displeased cornea,
Muscles fatigued with undue bills,
Imaginations lived their golden age…
Stagnant air gulps the sigh,
Wish has been long back copyrighted-
They had assured of a damn erotic show
But filthy posters fail to turn me on;
Filled with an anonymous fear
Silence I pick to fence my mannish ego…

Finally midnight hours come-
She moans it has been enough for today,
Lethargy knocking those suppressed hips,
Lips dead beat after the final touch…
Satisfaction caged only in western beds,
Developing license renewed for validity,
Pleasure accessible lone in midday slumber,
Credit adding to the compensatory hike
Masturbation is just what I can settle on-
Adjustment is the key for survival,
Like a ghost I witness the puppet show…

- littleWriter

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Unavoidable

Panther black leather boot
A weighty convocation suit…
A hefty ticket to the tinny world…
Condensed thoughts,
Black & blue plots-
Aladdin’s lamp
Smoky nude ramp-
All washed away…
Dusty acoustic destined to die,
Must die with the rusted strings…

Restless rollercoaster ride
Love making with blind pride…
Life rocking in the rock-strewn globe…
Neglected sense,
Bygone essence-
Ethnic divorce,
Muddy source-
Soul assassinated…
What life a plastic rose would know,
Must witness a thousand deaths…

They love to live and live to kill…
Suicide note on hundred pound bill!
Cynic smile and lavish wig…
Tongue rapes the roasted pig-
Candle extinguishing in cigar smoke,
Wind is still and nothing to evoke,
Candle must die in cigar smoke…


- littleWriter

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Happy Anniversary my Heart

In the mood of singing today,
Desperate to find my lyrics,
Lost an year ago
Under a whitewash,
Smashed under the fallen bricks…
I can’t be quiet today I can’t be dry-
Have to blow those balloons,
Kiss your cherry brow
Anyhow I’ve to try…
Where are you my heart…?
In the kitchen or the roof…
Drying your hair or stirring my soup?

Honey did you see Roy’s wedding card
Which I had kept over the magazine rack last day?
Oh God I forgot to tell you,
I met little Lira in the early morning!
She was wrapped in the scarf
You’d weaved last winter…
For the first time I saw tears in her eyes
Seeing me, I know not why…
Dear oblige me with the coffee of my taste-
No I better make it for your spoon of sugar
Won’t suffice me…
Cheers darling…your espresso waiting for you…
Enough you’ve given now it’s my turn,
I’ve a surprise for you…
Close your eyes or I’ll dip down thy blue ocean…
One two and three,
Happy Anniversary my love, here’s your…

Pendant drops on the white marble below
Can hear the rolling diamond’s chime-
My castle of cards blown miles away
By the brutal breeze of time!
Reminiscence rasping the wound once again…
I wasn’t a perfect man, just right for you-
Bad in planning my expectations were few…
First and foremost was to be always by your side
Life in your name a lifetime with you…
Lets go for our candlelight dinner now-
As the candle will be glowing forever
Won’t be ever oblivious of our vow…



- littleWriter

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Turbulent Flow

Now when sun goes down
Horizon dissolves in the black,
I feel like pretensions are over
Time to shift the behavioural gear…
Time to rejuvenate the human…
Time to nourish the growing foetus…
Time to take coherent precautions…
I feel like just delivered a neonate,
Severe pain squashed to modest sleep
Silent night falling in my dicey dream!

Love couldn’t be much then
Pocket had adequate air in it as
Carrying a parse wasn’t of practice-
Time for generalised simplification…
Time for diffident masturbation…
Time for mending torn out sole…
Time to live as fraction of the whole…
Seemed like independence day wasn’t far,
Brighter images veiling the cracked walls
Sceptic time whipped my glossy dream!

Sandwiched between the goal and those got
Takes place a shrewd game of chance,
Who cares it’s a jackpot or a blackjack-
When effect outlays audacious endeavour…
Balance plasters all sorts of imbalance…
Evolved perception is the golden trophy
Taught ‘hard to get’ chicks are sexiest ones…
Title of thief is the disgraceful impotence…
And history is just the piece for mart…
At last fucking sunset must revamp your day!



- littleWriter