I've had enough
of the words of rhyme
Locked away behind
the bars of stanzas
doing time

All the hopes
and wanna be dreams . . .
Just more nightmares
with chilling screams

No I had it !
and I don't want anymore
I don't want someone knocking with words to implore

Go take your metre ,
Yellow pencils number four
I don't want to hear you
knocking on my door

You can go post
and share with the world
Shelly , Keats , Byron . . .
They all make me feel sterile

A sonnet for your bonnet
Haiku for beret
You can put a quill to it
Go have your good Shakespearean
day

In the dark and deep interiors
Where harsh reality prevails
Where no state's aid knocks
A gruesome tale it entails
Where woman is a mother,
Sister, or a guileless daughter
Behind veils of ignorance
Where poor is beaten excruciatingly
For solely out of wantonness
A young girl writhing with pain
Fear, dysphoria of social shame
Where age-old myths are sacred
In their glum and gloated atmosphere
Where harsh reality prevails
Out of sophisticated, sedentary lifestyles
In the dark and deep interiors
Where backwardness is upheld...

I think
what saves today’s commercial xmas hype
from being absolutely nauseous
is the wide-eyed joy of children
when they open their gifts
and find their dreams come true

a faint echo
of the joy in the eyes of the Kings
when after their long travails
they discovered the baby of their dreams
had miraculously become reality