“As old as man,
Way back before the past…”
Said by the historian in the perpetual cemetery,
His book and ours open on the same blank page
“What is to become of us,
we are just memories of sound in a silent room”


The image of man
Tearing down his own tower of babel
with an “Eloi!, Eloi!” to himself
Grasping at the light
Without thought of the fire
All felony and no fingerprint
forever

And I watch
And I watch
And after my illness, I walk alone
And notice the words of children
collecting sun in a bucket

To 80 years from Spanish misery
To Syrian sand and tears
Mixing with the shores of ****** and Liverpool, London and Lemuria
Nothing gathered
Nothing gained

We slip further into the walls of parliament
Slip into the walls of web, corridors of code
And hear of occultist cataclysm
and those so intelligent all before them is dismissed
(“eloi, eloi, I am eloi!”)

In cold grey-green bathrooms
of flatblocks or apartment buildings
licking seasalt and gunpowder
from the fingers of our Atlantic cousins
In human skin suits

I was lying on a highway,
Next to crashed cars,
With blood trickling down my face.
I was with my best friend;
She was so adamant on buying that dress.
That blue dress we had seen a week ago,
Through the window of a closed store.
Now, she was in the car
With airbags against her body
She was alive, thankfully;
But with a broken arm.
As now the situation was contained
With no unusual movement around us,
We walked to the hospital nearby
And were given first aid.
Unclear about what had happened
Until the news channel spoke about the meteor.
The car crash was at the edge of the crater.
After dropping her to her place,
I got back home after 2 hours.
It was 5pm and exactly then,
The country was under attack;
It was a war.
The enemies were attacking from all sides,
And Oh God! From us they were not far!
As we hurried to leave the place,
From the window, I saw a man loading a grenade.
I was white as I shouted for my Mom,
In reply I heard, "It's nothing".
"But Mom, you have not seen what's happening here, we have to run!"
"Yes dear, we have to hurry, after all it is 5.30".
Now the man was aiming the grenade at us.
"5.30?! Mom we have to run, we all are going to die!"
"Not we, but only you!"
I was surprised,
"It's 5.30, for God's sake, wake up!
Or you'll again miss the first hour of the day!"
*And all this while,
I thought I was surviving an apocalypse.

The shadows stretch across the hills
As ash blankets the heavens
Metal dyes the mushroom sky
And waves of fire deafen

Come, my love, into the dark
Ah, let’s away my darling
We’ll find the sun, ere morning comes
And buy it with a farthing

We’ll walk across the acid plains
And raft the spectral river
Voice a prayer on breathless air
For those who pulled the trigger

Now don your mask and gird your soul
Tonight we’re leaving shelter
Shed a tear for yesteryear
And curse the hand we dealt her

Partially cloudy, 85 degrees low, 90 high.
Sunny, 87 degrees low, 94 high.
Apocalyptic, 213 low, 224 high.

I hear people worried about the floods
The fires, battling nature and what not,
Freezing and hail, Thunderstorms,
There are hurricanes and tornadoes.

No one knows if they can keep this violent,
Stagnant as well as risky way of life going,
If this is the end, I gotta tell ya, I for one...
*Am extremely glad if that's how it goes!!!

we are angels
with cathedrals,
prophets, and poems
to prove it  

other species  
are not endowed
with such gifts:

the ceiling
of the Sistine Chapel
the pyramids, loosing
the bounds of earth
to walk on a moon...
psychoanalysis
the atomic bomb
Anthrax, dioxin
and gunfire
gunfire  

we are maggots
on rotting fruit, sated now
looking for a place to hop off,
to escape before the fruit falls fast  
to the ground

before the oceans rise
and the skies fill with ash
surely we can fly away

but we are wingless
angels, killer angels  
killer angels

In this small world, there was prosperity,
In this small world, everyone was so full of glee,
The future was bright with light that could never be seen.

Then one woeful day, the stars had come,
On this fateful day, destruction had rung,
The stars in the sky made sure no one survived.

Many years had passed, one man alone,
Where would he go? No one could've known.
The world couldn't see the savior he would have been.

In this small world, where darkness would reign...

Lady made out
of magic and mayhem
bottled along with stars
and flowers
and hurricanes
and volcanoes

A brutally lovely poetry

A work of art--
not post-modern but
pre-apocalyptic

and
if he lays his eyes on you
even Narcissus
will launch
his ship

Something is coming guys...
*and im not sure i want to be around  to find out  what