Guthrie is a man made of garbage
His dreams they rot and leak
He has banana peel hair
Hes got old martini olive eyes
But did you see him before the light died
Years ago
Way back to a time when charm and wit flowed freely from his mouth
His tongue a silver spoon
His dealing hand like a golden talon
Tryna ***** the light out
His feet the vehicle taking him to paradise
He says "you only live once, better live the burning life."

This world is a swam with
a broken neck,
rotting on the canal side.
While the junk of human
life floats in the deep-dirt
water; The cans,
wrappers and sunken
shopping trolleys.
Rancid under a sun
sweating light.
With all the eyes
that dare not look
on the physical,
nor the metaphysical;
for fear of clarity.

Wind,the agent of change,
         you at first was far off and distant,
                    A constant drone of bees, not much!
                       they paid no heed to those rumblings,
                  Your power was counted
                      insignificant,they kept the curtain drawn,
Down, intact, trying to
             keep you out of the house of darkness.they kept.
                    But the suppressed put
                     their ears close to the ground, listened,
Aware of your intent, they
        patiently waited, watching your unhurried advance.

Giving  talkative leaves ample chance
        to speak their heart, first, tickling trees, caressing clouds,
You changed the speed,
          rustling sound soon became persistent.
                 Shouting slogans, hand raised,
                    all the plants and trees expressed their anguish,
Insisted, a change, justice for mother nature,
           stoppage of torture of , animals, birds and bees.

Wind, you act as an unswerving  friend,
                creating awareness , is  your intent.
  and fight the rot , naked profit motive, relentlessly,
                 by now every one knows the injustice,
festering fiercely  in the core.
                               You drive the clouds and spin them about,
                                        rain by and by  gains strength
                                   It pours now in torrents, all untruth
                                      comes out in the open, face the ire,
                             the true power of the protests, eye of the storm.
Wind, you boom, give a clarion call to clean,
          revenge all the injustices, perpetrated til now.

I am your favorite fruit,
from the tree, this morning
you've freshly plucked
with a visible delight,
driven by an avid desire
that moved your dust coverd
pleasure seeker part
still kept alive, astonishingly
though you are no more
that young adventurer
once  you enjoyed being,
and have turmoils to handle.
You kept me safe in the
favorite nook of  your kitchen
not before caressing a bit
feeling my texture and
inhaling elating  fragrance.
you wanted to sit and eat this fruit
you did covet, so much when
you are free from daily grind.

But it's already sunset,darkness creeps,
there is no chance of a respite
for you, you easily forget
that there is no tomorrow,
perhaps you keep the thought
away,though you know
the things work out only today
as you want it, but can't help.

But as a woman of many parts
you may think it doesn't matter
you can throw the fruit out
before the night advances
hissing through your teeth
"Oh! it's gone to rot too soon"

I would still exist in the neuron
of your deeper brain, a sweet wish
unfulfilled, a little  eclipse in your
inner sky of many bright suns,
a neuron twitches continuously
independently, breaking the tune,
but yes, the world exists for both
it's sweet and bitter disappointments too.
And it necessitates taking life after life
to fulfill such small desires
and clean up, smile with contentment.

She finds every single day
invariably wears, to her horror
a night as a gown all over it
made of deceit and mayhem
of many kinds deftly woven as one.


Makes it an imperative
for her to choose from
nights of two kinds,
quite unsettling, it has become
as the world progresses,
is this truly any step forward?

If she  wants to count sheep
desperately in the hope of managing
forty winks, that too has become
a luxury, she can't easily afford.

She has the other prospects
staring on her face, not a welcome thought;
reject the challenge of  nights altogether
lie gathering dust in a corner for ever.

Or resurrect, herself mustering the
last of hidden power, turn a whirlwind,
rage against the hypocrisy
of the sleep deprived world,
rotting every moment of it's life
yet pretends nothing is there
to worry,remains uncaring about
it's downward spiral, gathering
momentum, turning nights in to days
and forcefully making days wear darkness

The static ringing in my ears,
Reminding me that I wasn't torn apart,
Like an animal, I ravaged my own heart,
Torn it to bits like a lion with it's prey,
Divide up the remnants,
And cast them into the wind....
Hoping to feed the other hungry hearts like mine,
But the pieces were left to rot.

A cornucopia of lies you freely fed to me,
and shoved the tainted, silver spoon down my throat,
You walked away,
and left me to choke on the ***** of your untruth.

You said you only wanted to protect me,
as you cowardly hovered your shield over yourself,
and your ******* covered bullets penetrated my heart,
driving me insane by my own sanity.

I suffocated in the shallow grave you tossed me in,
leaving me to bathe in the dirt,
and inevitably for my heart to decay and my soul to rot,
while you danced merrily atop of my tomb with your love.

I clawed my way out of the hell
that you imprisoned me in,
and stitched my mouth to keep out your lies,
becoming immortal against your torment.

Your poison tasting lips graze my own,
as you regret the treachery you bestowed on me,
but I hold a glimmering spoon in one hand,
and am whistling as I dig your grave.

To this old, defeated apple
Skin blazoned in rosy tunic
Slippery as fate discarded, fate in a bubble
How you've crossed my sight like a cynic

You rest cold and unamused
In my warm, subversive hands
It's as if your insides have set themselves loose
Unarmed in their pure dwindling strands

Fat worms whiffed spotless fields of honey-gold
Floundering shallow water fishes in unconscious fathoms
Seared the sweet flesh with spawns in manifold
You stand still in spite of downtrodden autumns

I took you in my mouth, your rot conspicuous
As if you whimper upon my numb tongue
That you won't last an age longer in this limping malice
Where your seed grows only to get wrung