My father.
Old sailor.
Old farmer.
Old carpenter.
Old interpreter.
Old archive of facts
And history. He knows
Our ancestory by heart down
To the 1600s. Born 1946, 68 years
Old today. Bought me my first pen,
My first book, taught me English
From the age of five. Told me I
Had the gift of language and
Expression. And that I was
A stronger boy than any
Anyone had ever seen
By the time I began  
To learn English.
I owe him credit
For every word
I have written.
Weak now
With age and
Bad lungs, I still
See him as a giant
Handling a chainsaw,
Smelling of forestry and
Gasoline and winter, smiling
At me with eyes deep blue from
Seeing more ocean and sky than I
Ever will know with my own.
His name to me is pappa.
After a few pints of his homemade
Wine, I sometimes let him beat me at Armwrestling. Then we laugh like
Old friends, remembering how
The roles were different back
Then. I am glad I stopped by
For a cuppa on this day. He
Would never ask me to.
Happy Birthday, pappa.

I'd cut a decade from my lifetime
To add a single year
To yours.

You were a friend to the end but the urge to
do it finally closed myeyes, when I opened
them yourlife had ebbed away. Just silence
which cleansed the screams away.

I knew what I had to do, I had thetools ready
to do those unspeakable things to you, but never
worry your not here any more just a cadaver
that will soon be in pieces all over my floor.

I use my knife cut you from throat to your *******
whoops I just chopped of your meat and veg ****
it you don't need them any more. I play with
your  ribs blood once warm now cold in my hands.

I think of a xylophone as I tap the knifes, dull noises
but they sound like musical notes, I smirk and laugh
a bit thinking of what you would think, as I play
musical notes down on your ribs and laugh some more.

I take your heart, it slips on to the  floor, ok mate it
slipped from my hands, don't look like that you don't
need it anymore. I unravel your intestines as they unravel
over the floor, reminds me of spaghetti just needs meat *****.

I have played enough, parts of you on me, I tasted part
of your liver like Hannibal lecture, I wish I could tell you
this but it tastes like horse.

I cut patches from your back, parchment a canvas of
skin so I draw, blood is my paint as I draw a skull,
then a dove you are free like the bird, no pain or
fear any more.

I feel no regret, you were a friend, but I use your
blood for hand print pictures on my wall as I
put it on my face on my chest.  I write I am the killer
and now I am complete the circle of life is complete
as I get the knife and move it across then I paint
with my blood now across the walls.

I feel tired, but I am in a red sea of peace the room
once white now red is painted on the walls. I think
of what I have done, I cant help who I am no one could
have changed me I've done what I have done I'm at
peace now slumped on the floor.

how can you end sadness

when you don’t know why

it exists

Don't judge my outer shell
Don't judge the marks or scars on my skin
Don't judge the look in my eyes as you spit the words of sin
Don't sear your judgements in my brain
Yeah ok, you think I'm insane
I hope you know that this inner pain does it
The pain you cause and from many others
So don't judge the tears that stream down my face
Sad angels cry the most
An angel as sad as I deserves to let these tears fall
So don't judge my outer shell
Don't judge it at all
Don't say I'm mental and insane
You don't know what has happened to me or what I've been through
So don't judge my outer shell
Till you've looked within me
Maybe then you'd see why I'm like this
Maybe then this will shatter your killing spree

She's open like a 9 till 5 store, night
shift worker short skirt cleavage
enhancing bra, making it look like
she has more than she has got. She
can offer you different services, its
just how much paper you have in
your wallet to what you get and see.

She smiles, does the deed she'll
swallow for extra, but she asks are
you clean? She smiles when finishes
licks the last bit off her mouth, she
gets out and again walks the street
to find the next drive by wallet, that
wants some late night fun.

She smiles when she sees you but
under that smile is disgust, a job not
wanted not wrote on her next CV. A
single mother with no job, a friend
looks after the baby, a job not wanted
she throws up after every meet.

The world is not what you think, some
do this 9 to 5 job not because they like
it, but to pay bills to put food on the
plate. Because no one is going to help,
the father ran out and left her with
the baby. She is strong for her little one
and does this so she can care for her
baby. hoping that one day she'll
not need to walk the streets.

I say I'm this you say your that online
friendship an illusion of  pixel's seen
on a screen. I say I'm the age I think
you want me to be, but I can be what
ever I want behind this screen.

I talk with you and also them, grooming
them to be an online friend, I am not
what you think. I am older younger I
could be sixteen but really fifty three,
my age and *** is what I  wish it to be.

For online friendship is an illusion, you
see pixels and words can tell a thousand
lies, but you crave a friendship and with
that you found me and my lies.

I could ask you to do things, if not you
the new friend I meet last week. I am
an online friend but you'll never really
know am I a woman, a man  for all you
know I could be a teenage kid showing
friends what you sent me to show everybody.

Now on the web, for all to see and show.
Trust  no one that you have never meet in
person, as an on line friendship is just as
fake as the picture you may see that person
you'll probably never meet.

I close
my eyes,
and I see
more than
when they were open wide...

I was brought into this house
Ordered from the local furniture shop
Made to order according to specifications
I am a wingback,
Upholstered in full-grain leather  
True to my rich heritage
I was placed in the library
Amongst the illustrious works of famous writers
Half- a - century have passed, providing support
To the backbone of the family
Although tired, he finds solace in my cozy embrace
I give him my wings to fly into the world of literature
Cervantes, Bunyan, Bacon, Goehte, Dostoevsky, Chekov, Tolstoy
Some of the names from the illustrious collection
Not all were privileged to have a seat here
He was transported to each era, savoring the rich legacy
Of literature down the centuries
I was privy to the mind-boggling debates
Which he conducted with himself
Trying to reason each work of literature
A mere wingback rose to be a companion
Providing sturdy support on the mahogany legs
One fine day the reading session ended in deep slumber
Five decades of bonding and companionship came to an end
Now, I stand here, forlorn, at the corner of the library
Reminiscing the reading sessions, and siesta
The wingback does not have the wings to fly away from this bond




© Amitav (Radiance)