Because starvation is my fate
I wake up only
To ingest fantasy
To lull my demon slack
..lax in torpor
Still it floats
A beautiful wraith
A sandwich..a hunk of chocolate
A maddening prospect of dopamine ore
An apparition.. an iced pastry
Coaxing me
.. abandon reserve, dignity
For a while
Begging me,
Live this one life!
I let the thought sway
Swirl and play
Tickling my forecasts
Seducing what is, for what never could be
Then I gather my shards of faith
And I say
Not yet, my love
Not today.

Frequently, of late
I catch myself contemplate
This inscrutable beast called poetry
What is banal, what has worth
Does anything I birth
Surpass a manual of carpentry?

And yet.. I reach, therefore I am human.

"ছি ছি কুৎসিত কুরূপ সে।
হেন বঙ্কিম ভুরুযুগ নাহি তার,
হেন উজ্জল কজ্জল-আঁখিতারা।"

Femmage to three
No less my inner imp
For why should it be
Inscrutable only to me?

"নহে সে ভোগীর লোচনলোভা,
ক্ষত্রিয়বাহুর ভীষণ শোভা।।"

Unfinished, I
Beautiful in no one's eye

Words staccato, clumsy
Opus magnum, not. Just a WIP.
Much beset by
sporadic, erratic editing.
But, like that manual of carpentry
It fills a need.
So I, maybe
For somebody?