At this late hour you ache for Eden’s precious priceless peace,
Shy shame pecked you until you recklessly plucked forsaken fruit
from yonder randomly ravished tree,
You no more sleep sweetly in deep dreams
with your beautiful bountiful luscious lovely turtledove,
Tintoretto’s golden lipped asp is now by you so poorly pawned.

You day by day wastefully just joke away
with an old cloaked crone already fertilized, discarded yet owned,
It makes me want to croak cry
how this age old dastardly liar desperately detains you,
He is but a shallow sinking stinking tainted tyrant
with a hundred thousand hidden talented talons.

His moist mobile tongue ensnares you
from dewy dawn down to darkened dusk,
He is nothing more than a tasteless thankless fat figureless fig,
His contorted contours all folded fool’s flesh
and insides as empty as dusty dried rotten garlic,
He truly is sinfully seeded and begotten love’s handicapped lie.

He has tightly tied his bearded corded coils
round about the pure purse of your emotional riches,
Even though there is no fragrant flower nor creamy silky milk
inside the horizontal trunk of his bloated body
you still pin ***** for a crust of vertical ***** joy,
Your promiscuous ***** red rose brings baleful blight upon your pure soul.

Death will wise wide prise open your poor glazed grazed eyes
to what his false face really is:
A murky mournful mountain of hideous crags
filled with black broken backed snails,
The roots of his treacherous tree burrow into your fine feathers,
He means to have and hold more than just you.

No more morbid advice.

Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of your original lost love,
There, in the distant future yet to birth, comes days of the pearly past,
Embrace them, those were the songs sung in the halls of summer long gone,
Birds of prey, birds of paradise, birds of every colour and hue,
Just remember to keep well away from the wizened vulture with the bloodshot eyes.



©Rangzeb Hussain