Your toilet hygiene is of no one's concern

The inner self stalks the person

Self-professed contrition is much too easy
for wrongdoing to come there looms still the possibility.

This is life in a nutshell
humdrum
but I've no song to hum
music is drowned
by the incessant market-drum
which the crowd in boredom
in cohorts rushes for
clowns are daily crowned-

life at large
is predictable
the familiar
is favoured by people
the senseless word-
'comfort-zone'
hugged to the bone
play, dance and sing
let the banal hone
never mind
the sterile outcome
noise and loudness
cuts* short the dreams
of innocent prime
and insults lonely old age
regarded as the castaway
of unfeeling time
the superficial reigns
brings down the bulwarks
of the true and sublime--

this in the end
is the moral harm
and outcome
of the self-chosen
society-made humdrum

We might disagree
     or not feel good
     but should not give truth
     a broken tooth

I am unfit
      yes,  I agree
      bad things I did
     should I be writing poetry?

There are no lilacs blooming in my soul
The last of them was stolen by that wily thief
Called practicality.

The Sweet Peas of my youthful years are gone.
Their perfume scented all my early efforts, but are
Fading in the glaring sun of duty.

How I loved the midnight-petaled pansies of creation.
They lined the paths in many magic gardens, but were
Crushed beneath the millstone of responsibility.

All the Humming Birds and Meadow Larks have flown,
Leaving me with only the cacophony of crows
When In my heart I long to hear the Mocking Bird.

The clouds no longer speak to me.
The breeze flies by with no kind whisper
And shreds the lacy curtains of my life

Leaving me with only dreams of Hollyhocks and Foxgloves,
Straining for the sight of Red-winged Blackbirds,
Longing for the melody that I can’t sing.

I can’t forget the smell of Summer Lilacs.
There must be a place where they still grow
And I will never stop until I find them.
     ljm