"brute" poems
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----
Not God but a ********
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the *****
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through.
29.7k
“kitty”. sixteen,5′ 11″,white,prostitute.
ducking always the touch of must and shall,
whose slippery body is Death’s littlest pal,
skilled in quick softness. Unspontaneous. cute,
the signal perfume of whose unrepute
focusses in the sweet slow animal
bottomless eyes importantly banal,
Kitty. a ***** Sixteen
you corking brute
amused from time to time by clever drolls
fearsomely who do keep their sunday flower.
The babybreasted broad “kitty” twice eight
—beer nothing,the lady’ll have a whiskey-sour—
whose least amazing smile is the most great
common divisor of unequal souls.
29.3k
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a **** lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
26k
Sweetly loving on my lips, swooning when you grab my hips
Sweet as honey with every sip, causing my intoxication
To bite your lip, and grin at me, drowning me deeper in serenity
Your lovely tongue, oh my, a heatwave to my mind
You've awestruck me with many waves of this pleasure
Strong enough to send the innocent into whiplash
You handsome brute, taking everything else out of my sight
My legs turn to jelly when you hold me so tightly, I've lost this fight
Causing waves of commotion a force of ***** insanity forming
Let my melody drug you, Our experience won't be boring
As my seductive lips craft your every moan, calling me, echoing
Your eyes fall back and you'll fall into a rippling sensation of bliss
All along I've been your gift
Making dreams come true in just the simplicity of a kiss
Sometimes love bites
But, you like that I insist
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
I.
Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they ****** ****** ******
In their icy air of night!
While the stars, that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten golden-notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.
Hear the loud alarum bells—
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now—now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the ***** of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells—
Of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
IV.
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people—ah, the people—
They that dwell up in the steeple.
All alone,
And who toiling, toiling, toiling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone—
They are neither man nor woman—
They are neither brute nor human—
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry ***** swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells—
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells—
Of the bells, bells, bells—
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
10.5k
having no root, i followed my own route
i used to know no other way
some would say i was the sum of a brute
i used to prey, when i should pray
i used to believe in an eye for an eye
to our minds vengeance comes in twos
by the time that we buy our last goodbye
we do what we do, then pay our dues
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers
Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away,
The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers.
Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May.
There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of your little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
But ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.
We for a certainty are not the first
Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled
Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed
Whatever brute and blackguard made the world.
It is in truth iniquity on high
To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave,
And mar the merriment as you and I
Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave.
Iniquity it is; but pass the can.
My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore;
Our only portion is the estate of man:
We want the moon, but we shall get no more.
If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours
To-morrow it will hie on far behests;
The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours
Soon, and the soul will mourn in other *******
The troubles of our proud and angry dust
Are from eternity, and shall not fail.
Bear them we can, and if we can we must.
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.
8.8k
By Arcassin Burnham
At times, when times,
When I fight beside the people I wanna trust it ends bad.
Making rumors,
rumors that'll make you **** yourself and ruining things that you had.
Quiet and shy, shy now even still incased in the big old brute of a shell.
I've been hurting inside, inside of my mind, lost in this mean matrix,
Can't you tell.
My exes lie beside me, keyword lie,
And I will never trust another girl again.
Filling pieces, pieces of my heart I threw in the trash in desperate dens.
Love is another form, forms of weakness,
Don't you let it all go to your big head.
Lives are on the line , the line of destruction and you feel your life is so dead.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
the urban ecosystem
breeds the urban beast;
the two-legged feral brute
they board their clockwork motorcages
the young ones in predatious packs
the old, too weathered to care
animal autonomy
born from sweatshop routines
i imagine myself
as a metropolitan jane goodall
observing and assimilating
taking note of the cacophony of
hoots and and hollers
the city-born mating calls
the high-topped courtship dances
******* civility born from enslaved mindsets
a young, dark-skinned boy
let's rhyme flow freeformed
to the rhythm of a young girls dancing feet
stomps and claps excite the celebration
of abandoned social etiquette
and of my foreign presence
i resemble some exotic missing link
a mix of this, that and the other
my skin, a rare quilt
and this draws more attention
than a gold-dusted african queen
i place myself in the back
peering through the windows of this transit jungle
feeling my heart skip beats
boom...boom...shhhh...
i must've left my rhythm in my other heritage
because i can't catch the ancient flow
but my neck leads my head in bobs
my brain rattles with old soul memories
and i see these young folks on the train
held back by centuries of black struggle
but forever rejoicing in african pulse
forever embodying our ancestoral pride
and i think, how peculiar
on the outside looking in like a fishbowl
exiled from my own brown-skinned tribe
with my oppression fitted like a glove
my blackness a mere disguise
my blackness camouflage
my blackness
not quite
black
enough
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Gather your arms
Your strength, your courage
The foe before you comes charging through
Pray tell, who dares to breach this wall
Built with sweat, and tears, determination
Shall no one try nor succeed to break
Integrity, honor and for all at stake
Lessons learned from painful past
of enemies who destroy en masse
There once was one who gave full trust
that those around them were of same heart
How quickly vanished the innocence
of what we're born, this purity
Now stained with blood, with wickedness
I take no more and give no less
No more, I say..no more I allow
I will not break, nor will I bow
Stand strong, here comes the hostile band
of haters and liars that we must withstand
But wait, I see a flag of surrender?
Shall he not break me forth asunder?
No fool am I, tis only a ruse
To trick and betray as the **** ensues
You will not win, not over me
That point will come when you will see
I am stronger than you....because of you
My time has come to win this war
For that is what life has become
A battle for whom the strongest will win
Not by brute strength, but by character within
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 1:31 PM UTC
It's been almost a year
Since we parted ways.
You came to see me in the rain
I threw your flowers in your face
And pushed you away.
You stood there drenched
And watched the light on in my room.
And then turned and walked away.
It's been almost a year
And yet I still love you.
You who made me smile
the boy that drove me nuts.
I miss talking to you,
telling you I want to be with you.
I miss your laugh
when I tell you I need you.
I miss you.
A year and some days
Couldn't lessen the pain.
Of you telling me you loved me no more
but wanted one last night.
I can still feel the sting of my palm
From kissing your cheek with brute strength.
I can feel the rage that fueled selfworth.
I turned and walked away.
I hope you got a good look
Of the last time you will watch me
Walking away with ruthless intent.
When you are alone a year from now
Remember you lost a good thing
and how I loved you.
It's been almost a year
I thought I was done.
But if you rang the doorbell
I would fly into your arms
And forget the past.
Not the love we shared ;
Just the pain.
I still dream about you.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 3:04 PM UTC
Cheers!
We praise our lined faces. We forgive time.
We raise our cups of double-pressed wine.
We know brute forests from our seed-time
We know heaven will cleave those we entwine
The season of heat is slow to erupt.
April is late. March is still covered with snow,
Its shabby sheet weak shoots barely interrupt.,
Succession and succession is what we know.
In the thronged marketplace we know we’ll find
Lines of who came before and who came after
All seem in be arranged by some infinite mind
Knowing where our line goes will not stop our laughter.
We dance. All dances are in our repertoire.
We know we’re headed to that sacred abattoir.
Marc Tretin
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
Partly darkened and part in light
A time when the stars and sun shared the sky
Bear witness to two behemoths wielding might
Impending clash foreseen to go awry
Two trains of thoughts charging from opposite ends
Each bearing their own solid ideals
Their flags that flew with conflicting brands
Convictions they carry on beaten, weary wheels
Almost an eternity, the time is soon
Seconds lasted before they finally would meet
Feeling of dread like the cloud covered moon
With war cries of whistles, they would greet
No possible way that they could miss
War waged in steeled wills and forged metals
Anticipate the moment, their couplings would kiss
Unleashing a barrage of predestined reprisals
Sheer destruction as they ate into each other
All in tow haphazardly derailed
A clash made of brute strength and power
A result of when decisiveness had failed
All was motionless save for the light of day
The two lay dead; spent currencies in coal
Fire and smoke had emerged from the fray
Signifying that the two have met their goal
Their cargo now freed, engaging in petty skirmish
Lunging and wrestling as they fought for dominance
Determination to overwhelm; never to languish
Jousting fists fueled by pent-up vengeance
Almost at end this long drawn battle
Much like a storm to be patiently ridden out
When the last of the debris should settle
Then would be lifted the dusty veil of doubt
The sun has now risen revealing the aftermath
Shedding light on the devastation incurred
Dark thoughts possess the most potent of wraths
But nothing could beat the muscle of the written word
Looking back I've realised the harm I've caused
Found great solace in the dark words I've governed
Life still hurls; it can never be paused
Just dust yourself off for you're better off enlightened
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
The Brute in me is a gleeful beast.
The Trog is older now and mellow.Yet. Pull up a chair.
Just a minute of your time if you will. Sometimes,
I watch him ooze through the pores of my skin and he stands there.
Myself and he apart
He always walks down to the river's edge where I always find
him skipping stones. skipping stones and staring at the far bank.
He does not see me or it seems so. This never changed for years.
After some time in reverie,he turns and walks by me.
I can smell the potent odor of his sweat.
The brute is me at twenty three.
Later still he returns to his dimension
deep within my past,
Wordless, yes until one day.
The beast looked over his shoulder mid toss
A stone skipped and tipped the universal
constants.
Pulling a pistol from thin air he shot me at point blank.
Two head, one heart. A bit of a start not mention
That was a bit rude but not out of character for me
at that age. No no don't get me wrong.The impulsive side
Not the homicide
Suicide. Hellofa ride.
Well. Well without further discussion, we casually
Walked back to the house an split a bottle of Stoli's
And. Watched MMA bloodletting on cable T.V.
Dec 12, 2012
Dec 12, 2012 at 5:51 PM UTC
But why did I **** him? Why? Why?
In the small, gilded room, near the stair?
My ears rack and throb with his cry,
And his eyes goggle under his hair,
As my fingers sink into the fair
White skin of his throat. It was I!
I killed him! My God! Don't you hear?
I shook him until his red tongue
Hung flapping out through the black, queer,
Swollen lines of his lips. And I clung
With my nails drawing blood, while I flung
The loose, heavy body in fear.
Fear lest he should still not be dead.
I was drunk with the lust of his life.
The blood-drops oozed slow from his head
And dabbled a chair. And our strife
Lasted one reeling second, his knife
Lay and winked in the lights overhead.
And the waltz from the ballroom I heard,
When I called him a low, sneaking cur.
And the wail of the violins stirred
My brute anger with visions of her.
As I throttled his windpipe, the purr
Of his breath with the waltz became blurred.
I have ridden ten miles through the dark,
With that music, an infernal din,
Pounding rhythmic inside me. Just Hark!
One! Two! Three! And my fingers sink in
To his flesh when the violins, thin
And straining with passion, grow stark.
One! Two! Three! Oh, the horror of sound!
While she danced I was crushing his throat.
He had tasted the joy of her, wound
Round her body, and I heard him gloat
On the favour. That instant I smote.
One! Two! Three! How the dancers swirl round!
He is here in the room, in my arm,
His limp body hangs on the spin
Of the waltz we are dancing, a swarm
Of blood-drops is hemming us in!
Round and round! One! Two! Three! And his sin
Is red like his tongue lolling warm.
One! Two! Three! And the drums are his knell.
He is heavy, his feet beat the floor
As I drag him about in the swell
Of the waltz. With a menacing roar,
The trumpets crash in through the door.
One! Two! Three! clangs his funeral bell.
One! Two! Three! In the chaos of space
Rolls the earth to the hideous glee
Of death! And so cramped is this place,
I stifle and pant. One! Two! Three!
Round and round! God! 'Tis he throttles me!
He has covered my mouth with his face!
And his blood has dripped into my heart!
And my heart beats and labours. One! Two!
Three! His dead limbs have coiled every part
Of my body in tentacles. Through
My ears the waltz jangles. Like glue
His dead body holds me athwart.
One! Two! Three! Give me air! Oh! My God!
One! Two! Three! I am drowning in slime!
One! Two! Three! And his corpse, like a clod,
Beats me into a jelly! The chime,
One! Two! Three! And his dead legs keep time.
Air! Give me air! Air! My God!
4.6k
THERE all the golden codgers lay,
There the silver dew,
And the great water sighed for love,
And the wind sighed too.
Man-picker Niamh leant and sighed
By Oisin on the grass;
There sighed amid his choir of love
Tall pythagoras.
plotinus came and looked about,
The salt-flakes on his breast,
And having stretched and yawned awhile
Lay sighing like the rest.
Straddling each a dolphin's back
And steadied by a fin,
Those Innocents re-live their death,
Their wounds open again.
The ecstatic waters laugh because
Their cries are sweet and strange,
Through their ancestral patterns dance,
And the brute dolphins plunge
Until, in some cliff-sheltered bay
Where wades the choir of love
Proffering its sacred laurel crowns,
They pitch their burdens off.
4.4k
When some proud son of man returns to earth,
Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth,
The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe
And storied urns record who rest below:
When all is done, upon the tomb is seen,
Not what he was, but what he should have been:
But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend,
Whose honest heart is still his master’s own,
Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonour’d falls, unnoticed all his worth—
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth:
While Man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven,
And claims himself a sole exclusive Heaven.
Oh Man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power,
Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust,
Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat,
Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit!
By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame.
Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn,
Pass on—it honours none you wish to mourn:
To mark a Friend’s remains these stones arise;
I never knew but one,—and here he lies.
4.4k
There are beetles on my skin
Attacking my bark
With pincers sharp
-trying to get in
And as they cover me
Head to toe in a blanket of living death
They tickle in bitter giggles
At my senses, set ablaze
By their exo-skeletal steps
I do not build a scream
For the sound would die out in between
The sheet of beetles
And my trodden lips
Instead I lie still
Commanding them with my negligence
Fusing with their fear-mongering
They take my shape; I don’t take theirs
I am the alpha insect
The form of their nature
And now I stand
In beetled armor
A figure against the sun
My shadow raining over the undergrowth
Reigning over the under.
In this symbiosis we travel
Across valley and valley
Coleoptera-covered Rand McNally
Covering the earth, showing
The dominance of man
The man the man
He who holds the plan
In the palm of his life-colored hand
I am he
The guardian of land and sea
Infected with a voice-in-hand
Who writes eternity
Whose pen is the land filled with ink of the sea
And with beetles of lead
I harmonize
That between myself
And quaking skies
As the world shakes in its roots
During a spacequake
That bends our atoms like dried glue
But then I am not alone
And as I rest on grass of gold
The heroes step forth, dressed in animals
In a dark, ****** harmony
That is the nature of our home, our Terra
The brute beauty in black void
Swimming through time like a turtle
On which the souls of man rest
On golden grass
Our spherical nest
And our evils are justified
By the good of our pursuit of beauty
Though selfish maybe
Though hellish for he
That swims on land
But drowns as he walks the sea
We are multitudes.
We are Gaia, we are the mother tree
The ****** bliss of humanity
Dark and light, both are we.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Over and over you love to judge.
Genuine at times or due to grudge.
Your approach frank and upfront.
Your judgments brute and blunt.
Judgement on anyone and everyone.
You judge all, you spare none.
O you innocent! if you only knew.
All your judgments will judge you.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
we met one night
hearts of fire
kisses sweet
passions dire
out came rope
and string we found
white gauze wrapping
honey ***** bound
kisses hot
mouths like butter
i tied her hard
her eyes did flutter
ankles to arms
head to feet
she started to sweat
her joints did meet
stressed and pink
i love her so
she looked up
and started to glow
oh you mean man
she said you brute
hurt me baby
am i not cute
i slapped her hard
on the face and the ***
bit her feet
she quaked and gasped
i used her mouth
oh she ****** and ******
and licked with lust
and then got ******
i love her ***
it was really fun
we loved and cumed
i am her sun
kisses torrid
i ate her like pie
for her love
i would gladly die
i tied her and bended
she arched and she folded
crushed her to pieces
and then re-moulded
she cried and begged
oh i adore
and hollered and squealed
give me some more
all in a swirl
eyes crossed and diffused
bent out of shape
and begged to be used
love turned to passion
and passion to madness
i did terrible things
she kissed me with gladness
we consumed each other
let out all that we feel
couldn't help our selves
and thats how we heal
out came rope
and string we found
white gauze wrapping
honey ***** bound
Aug 9, 2016
Aug 9, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
Oh, Laridae,
all feathers and beak,
how we do adore your screech.
Granted, puffy, squawking bird, anything you may beseech.
Our sweet
Kleptoparasite of beach. House it anytime we meet,
with brute force and shellfish plea,
you'll be the king
of seas.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 8:59 PM UTC
We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Did any flower bloom, in your garden today, check out now
Love alone is the flower with fragrance, don't water the rest.
An year reigned is dead, the overcast sky clearly proclaims
A dark shroud covers the sky, hiding the good cheer we need.
Alone, I climb up the winding road to the hilltop, to view
The sunset, it reminds the past year of painful events
The skyline looks blood smeared, from a corner fire erupts
Making hate the recurring motif, what's happening to the world?
Technologies to share information is no good, if we aren't sane.
If we use that to sow evil seeds of hatred, poison spreads.
Life turns a mess, all the wealth has no meaning without peace.
Are we not ashamed to be vengeful like barbarians, **** each other?
Didn't Gandhi prove, nonviolence is the weapon against brute force?
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC