you placed a crown
upon my head
making me feel
like i was the queen
of your castles
little did i know
they were made
of nothing but sand
then the tide crashed in
and swept them away
hushed promises
forgotten by morning.

you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.

My musings always pun me through a wide range of vividly exulted grimaces. I think like an ***, act like an ***, assassan-ing a conjugal of my mind and soul. 'Why', my only friendly foe stares at me, giving out a roar of laughter as if I'm his slave. He seeks pleasures by caging me in his castle where beauty meets an imperfection, heart rejoices with brain, and imagination treats a trick. When I peek through the orifice, the wreckage of my wrong decisions welcome me gleefully. My devilish side gets overwhelmed by such a warm welcome. It asks for more cutting out the pinions of my angelic side.

Ah! Clipped wings-------No wings!

Soon, devilish side overthrows my angelic side usurping a ******* over me. It collapses my self-esteem, laying entwined in the arms of my ego. Ahh! I combat, show the feats of courage but, a mistake became a lifetime regret. I put off my veil of courage for a second to pacify myself. Now, I'm all naked from head to toe. In the mean time, my opponent injure me by an arrow of self-pity. I, I AM destroyeDD. No shelter. No armor. No cloak. I'm NOMore. I try to find a lost-me but lose a remaining part of me. I try more, I lose a part again. The more I try, the more I lose. Now, I'm physically a non-existent but my soul still wanders. My soul still pursues the answers. My soul is in desolation. My soul tries to comfort himself but stops as someone whispers,


'Great things never come from comfort zones'
(An unconcerned-illusionary-truth fooled my soul, Badass soul!)

Now, my soul wants to re-surrect in a way that he get his body again. My soul imagines the days when his gestures were heard by the body terming as ****** gestures. My soul enlivens his morale, wears a smile but, still seems incomplete. Once, my soul finds a body but can't find a place in it. It is preoccupied by another soul. When my soul asks for a companionship, it denies. My soul is not even in a state where it can make sly innuendos. He still feels those oblique marks, disparaging comments, shadowing hîs path. Those feels still make him sweating out bullets. My soul finds a body whose soul is longing to depart. My soul rejoices thinking that this is something what he wants. Soon, my soul houses in a ****** paradigm of a lady. My soul gives a new life to the lady. Her spirits are high, and confidence is a multiple of her spirits. My soul elates, leaving an olive branch. My soul befriends her body. She is a merry-go-lucky lady but her melancholy changed her. Her bewitching beauty is a plus to her nature. My soul remembers my ugly face and but still send positive vibes my way. After sometime, my soul gets busy with the lady and forgets me. I try to send him signals but he doesn't respond. I try more, still nudges from his side. I forget my soul too. When I feel lonely in my grave, I wander here and there. I try to befriend the people resting in other graves, I fail. All graves are scented with the perfumes of love, which their beloved spray on them.They are brimmed with the gags of laughter, murmurs of joys, and clicks of wonders. My heart still throbs for my soul, and I. over and over again.

'Perspective betrays with its dichotomy:
train tracks always meet, not here, but only
    in the impossible mind's eye;
horizons beat a retreat as we embark
on sophist seas to overtake that mark
    where wave pretends to drench real sky.'

'Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's devil is another's god
    or that the solar spectrum is
a multitude of shaded grays; suspense
on the quicksands of ambivalence
    is our life's whole nemesis.

So we could rave on, darling, you and I,
until the stars tick out a lullaby
    about each cosmic pro and con;
nothing changes, for all the blazing of
our drastic jargon, but clock hands that move
    implacably from twelve to one.

We raise our arguments like sitting ducks
to knock them down with logic or with luck
    and contradict ourselves for fun;
the waitress holds our coats and we put on
the raw wind like a scarf; love is a faun
    who insists his playmates run.

Now you, my intellectual leprechaun,
would have me swallow the entire sun
    like an enormous oyster, down
the ocean in one gulp: you say a mark
of comet hara-kiri through the dark
    should inflame the sleeping town.

So kiss: the drunks upon the curb and dames
in dubious doorways forget their monday names,
    caper with candles in their heads;
the leaves applaud, and santa claus flies in
scattering candy from a zeppelin,
    playing his prodigal charades.

The moon leans down to took; the tilting fish
in the rare river wink and laugh; we lavish
    blessings right and left and cry
hello, and then hello again in deaf
churchyard ears until the starlit stiff
    graves all carol in reply.

Now kiss again: till our strict father leans
to call for curtain on our thousand scenes;
    brazen actors mock at him,
multiply pink harlequins and sing
in gay ventriloquy from wing to wing
    while footlights flare and houselights dim.

Tell now, we taunq where black or white begins
and separate the flutes from violins:
    the algebra of absolutes
explodes in a kaleidoscope of shapes
that jar, while each polemic jackanapes
    joins his enemies' recruits.

The paradox is that 'the play's the thing':
though prima donna pouts and critic stings,
    there burns throughout the line of words,
the cultivated act, a fierce brief fusion
which dreamers call real, and realists, illusion:
    an insight like the flight of birds:

Arrows that lacerate the sky, while knowing
the secret of their ecstasy's in going;
    some day, moving, one will drop,
and, dropping, die, to trace a wound that heals
only to reopen as flesh congeals:
    cycling phoenix never stops.

So we shall walk barefoot on walnut shells
of withered worlds, and stamp out puny hells
    and heavens till the spirits squeak
surrender: to build our bed as high as jack's
bold beanstalk; lie and love till sharp scythe hacks
    away our rationed days and weeks.

Then jet the blue tent topple, stars rain down,
and god or void appall us till we drown
    in our own tears: today we start
to pay the piper with each breath, yet love
knows not of death nor calculus above
    the simple sum of heart plus heart.

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

XXVIII. TO ATHENA (18 lines)

(ll. 1-16) I begin to sing of Pallas Athene, the glorious
goddess, bright-eyed, inventive, unbending of heart, pure ******,
saviour of cities, courageous, Tritogeneia.  From his awful head
wise Zeus himself bare her arrayed in warlike arms of flashing
gold, and awe seized all the gods as they gazed.  But Athena
sprang quickly from the immortal head and stood before Zeus who
holds the aegis, shaking a sharp spear: great Olympus began to
reel horribly at the might of the bright-eyed goddess, and earth
round about cried fearfully, and the sea was moved and tossed
with dark waves, while foam burst forth suddenly: the bright Son
of Hyperion stopped his swift-footed horses a long while, until
the maiden Pallas Athene had stripped the heavenly armour from
her immortal shoulders.  And wise Zeus was glad.

(ll. 17-18) And so hail to you, daughter of Zeus who holds the
aegis!  Now I will remember you and another song as well.