"allotropes" poems
He and I
Are oil and water.
He is cigarettes and ravioli;
I am cranberries and ramen.
The great benefactor?
Yes, a factor
But not the end.
Not the root.
I shall never be a beggar.
Hark, calls reality
Indifference is aching for you.
Threatening, forcing.
Beware, or it shall overcome you.
I was never good at chemistry
And what is painting but a solution?
What are we but unstable?
Perhaps we are just allotropes.
Oct 18, 2010
Oct 18, 2010 at 4:15 PM UTC
Oh yes I talk about trying, don't pardon me
Innocence has nothing to fear, this is what hardened me
Just quit man, give up, be the pawn in world chess these thought never cordon me
Rise for you may not reign, but rise for you may be right.. this is the lesson that gardened me
I was in the zone too, I still feel low at times, but I fought and will fight everytime, atleast now I know what my stardom is
Never counted much on anyone, because sometimes when did I got to know what the word phantom means
And trust me I do have dreadful nightmares, but i don't let them warden me
Because what's much bigger and brighter is my dream and the ones I want to live it with, that is what that heartens me
Over expectations, just like over exposure to light, gives you darkened s(K)in
Same people, same situation but different faces, learnt allotropes are not found in carbon only
Was down and low and in pieces, survived, now I am coming thundering for the win
Dream, travel, love, express, experience so the world knows you not just some iron molding
Everyone's at war, some fighting for glory, some voicing their story.. latter is how I unburden me
Miseries in abundance, it's HOPE that forms the basis of my ardent leap.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
*children no longer obey their parents,
and everybody is writing a book.
circa 1914 - 1924a.d.*
away with you to the lyricist!
and not to the earth bound roughage
of toil and till -
or was that not the first encouragement?
have not but the first sipped water
of these optical realm, fused more
than as modern antidote has it -
been more intoxicating to see as if a first
dawn of Belshazzar?
have these not been the invitations
for scaling the summit of tw. Babylon?
then indeed, not with care or plush attire,
have we descended into an idle affair -
for the insurmountable cohort rattled
even the lesser who still struck a chord of
defiance and belittled by the world: mused.
as so much of love pours onto paper -
and a paper that later becomes a slab
of stone, plunges with splash and splatter into
the sea as unknown as that, which
encompases the orbit of Neptune -
in that void and in that void,
can we rarely find a bottle to bottle all
things concerning, up.
or is that: man can no longer play monopoly
with the medium, or indeed he can:
nuance layered upon nuance layered upon
insinuation, layered upon metaphor,
layered upon non-literalism, layered upon
literalism, layered upon pun, layered upon
abstract, layered upon fear, layered upon
politics, correct?
by the allotropes of carbon!
to the times when one could say one thing and
one thing only and feel a will toward something
being testimony of unequivocal thoughts!
at a time when not everyone practiced politics
on such a scale, or wasn't prescribed
a journalistic career on the sly,
when it fact: mere charity work.
life for life, word for word, deed for deed -
and to hell with human circumstance:
whether awe-struck, or awe-bound,
or as most can attest... neither.
now all is said, but nothing can be done -
for now the only thing being said
is a question of whether it be vogue
or ragged mops strewn
across a dark cupboard space -
as too the warm doughnuts and baguettes
on a Monday morning with headlines and
articles and opinion sections and photographs
and adverts... nothing more
than toilet paper already used
to wipe one's **** lying facedown in
a puddle on some street: by the afternoon.
perhaps this too be a melancholy art,
akin to the journalistic endeavour -
and perhaps both the hope in poetry as the hope
in journalism: is for at least a single
memorable day to be nothing but a sabbath.
could this world ever envision a media sabbath?
probably not... as this poem suggests...
and another, and another... and...
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC