Frittered souls to a bucolic routine they
were;
wishes wished of open wings; a dream to
fly.
Fruits of eternal bliss eluded every single
grasp
fettered to reality; never-land was a
bitter lie.
In four walls of chained freedom destinies
clashed
scripting the yellowed pages of a musty
long life.
On the crossroads they stood in an empty
horizon,
death the only salvation; sweeter seemed
the knife.
His Scorching present
Checkered
chessboard of woven strings now soaked
in
a borrowed stench from a dilapidated drug store.
The
past of his mahogany chair retched in pauses,
putrid
breaths now stinking in his saliva’s downpour.
Sulking
in silence, his scarlet tears found no room,
beyond
mending; a broken toy thrown into a heap.
Mocking;
curtains on his play came rolling down,
an
aged ruin; burden he became for none to keep.
A sugar coated Past
Svelte hands of grey grew from his charcoal pipe
romancing the last dying rays of an evening sun.
Playing hide and seek in their crimson shadows
was a spirited soul; an emperor who bowed to none.
Castles born of freewill contrasting his poverty rose
in his ever dreaming eyes; glittering gold he chose.
Feeble strokes of a divine painter may have denied
him of colors; peace he found in a horizon’s stride.
Images of her shattered Present
Seduced
in sweltering degrees of the furnace heat,
sweet
smell of sweat mingled her cheap perfume.
Graced
in the glowing shadows of molten metal;
eyes
shone with an ire, goddess pose she assumed.
Dreams
hid in her heart poured without purpose,
as her alter-ego danced to
the beats of anvil’s moan.
Resolve
to live in search of peace already lay dead;
mechanized
patterns lived marching at hunger’s tone.
The cozy warmth of her Past
Prickling the air off her moist betel crushed lips,
bloody spurts watered the grave of lifeless lilies.
Tangled maze of colored cotton in mirth danced
as majestic hands spun; a love pair of ugly geese.
Weaving tasteless strands into arts of piquant life,
into the azure evening’s mist she slipped too deep.
If bitter pills were what GOD served on the platter,
smoky clouds await rainbow rather than sadly weep.
Thy
Holy hand that sinned
Draped in a dusty coat kissed by silver sparkles;
night’s temper soothed in the cold autumn hug.
In its shade came God, at a devil’s untimely call;
armed with a weapon of spite ; bit by the evil bug.
In a second’s whisper he crossed their forlorn lives
it was a moment of shame; an eternity to rue too.
Sex change was
a success; bloody fingers as proof;
if the almighty was innocent; who would be sued ?
PS: A sad story of dreamers snubbed by the
unholy hand of God. A man who dreamt of a day where he would bask in glory is
reduced to no more than a shoddy heap; he is struck by a sickly disease. A
woman of bright hope; his wedded half dreams of a better life whilst her job of
weaving. God answers the devil’s call to operate and crossover their parallel
lives ~ The Sex change as I call it happens. The man is crippled for life and
takes the job of staying home like his wife, stuck in an wooden chair; and the
woman takes over the manly responsibility and goes to work at the furnace her
husband worked for. The poem speaks of the silent ways in which the divine hand
works and disrupts life, the cries of a family no one can possibly hear, a sin
no one can ever question.
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