"showpiece" poems
She picked it up from the seashore.
He encouraged her,
Flattered her with indulgence
To bring back her dying flame.
A girl once again,
She brought it home
In whimsically ebullient innocence!
On the polished floor
In a faraway city
It found it hard to walk
With the load of mollusk
And made a funny sight!
It strained its ears
But there was no sound of the sea,
No saline smell in the air,
Instead the water was sweet and insipid.
It went thirsty.
The food was alien,
It went hungry.
Soon they polished the shell
And celebrated addition of
Another showpiece in their room!
The crab had at last
Found a new home.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 3:06 AM UTC
She's a clumsy little human.
Broken beakers, test tubes,
Plates, glassware, door handles,
The antlers of that showpiece deer,
Her bed, her favourite pencil.
Through seventeen (and a half) years of clumsiness
The universe, it's always whispered to her
"However careful you might try to be
Sometimes things, they'll fall out of your clumsy hands
Never on purpose, no satisfactory reason
Leaving you with melancholy ruins.
Sometimes things, they can be fixed
With a little glue and a lot of patience
So fix them before they're lost and
Be ever more careful thereon.
But sometimes things, they can't be fixed
Not with glue nor with patience
And broken they will forever be
So sweep up the pieces gently and
Cast them away sans regret."
She's a clumsy little human.
Broken beakers, test tubes,
Plates, glassware, door handles,
The antlers of that showpiece deer,
Her bed, her favourite pencil,
Trust, hearts and friendships.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
Beware: Do not fall in Love with an artist.
An artist is definitely the most dangerous to fall into a relationship with.
You won’t even know you’re the exact facsimile of their work.
They will tear your heart to bits,
more than likely to generate a new showpiece.
They will watch your irises go from fields in bloom to dull skies,
and your black pupils go from metallic to charcoal.
They will be able to stroke your hair softer than a paintbrush,
and watch your little detail emerge from something pallid.
They will be able to memorize the structure of your face,
then round your cheeks and chisel your dimples into rock.
They will sing lightly the melody you’ve made,
as they cling to your torso as if a life source.
Do you see the danger?
For the love of god, beware.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
When the intelligent design was
sizzling and shining in the soul,
and the rest were still in deep mute
yet one was playing the lute!
Paradise saw me, to her I drew
and tweet “So beautiful are you.”
Pronto, the heaven turned around,
as if the first light after the eternal night
hovers on her lips like she then spoke.
Hissed to me, “without prejudice
am I by design the enduring showpiece.
So ask me what's indeed the beauty is.”
Without blowing a horn or waxing lyrical I say:
Didn’t it blur before you, that a magic snap?
The first reflection of the feminine form
on your golden spiral smoothed out water,
because she breathed on it, on the spot.
Up till now did you view this intact mirror?
Only one drop, keeping tight into the core with
a shadow of the reflection within doled out.
Instantly croons in and danced through every
river across your one hundred layers.
You are still painting on, go on take your time!
Even the atom from the bottom of the black hole
reaches out to the water, the feminine did it first.
Peering through the water’s skin she floats
with the utmost high-surfaced designs into mirror.
Only the primo wonder of the all one peerless God
looks on it, there is no veil except the one is her!
The Uncreated Word, fluid beyond, finest mellifluent
coined the creation, only to loop back to itself far greater.
Therein the root the first (pure light) feminine rose,
for good ever after blossoming flower!
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC
Took a trip on the Belafonte,
Bound with Cuba to forgotten Sanz.
Dinning on tin canned Del Monte,
A glass of Suntory always in hands.
Lloyd Faversham gifted salacious devices by John Cleese.
Used as props in Mike’s next gin stained showpiece.
The drum-line seemed irksome to J. Jonah.
He’d heard Zach Hill before.
Given limited time, despite the persona.
Interstellar fault found in a **** metaphor.
A swift change to an even more marketable sound.
Sparks didn’t fly when trying to appear profound.
Tiny teen dreams tending to tiny skirts.
Fidgeting with the hem-line.
Their just unintelligible flirts.
Stripping to avoid the breadline.
Dystopian fiction led to dissolution of fact
Can’t seem to see their world isn’t intact.
Atwood to Collins, Collins to a stupid ******* maze.
Alternate choice being a criminal thrill.
Simplistic fantasy whose only benefit is praise.
Popular opinion seems to be well over the hill.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I feel like an unfinished painting
A portrait of a woman
The figure without a name.
I am always
A nearly masterpiece,
The unfinished sequel to
An artist's best work.
Critics will consider
My half shaded eyes
And sheer, lifeless hair
From too little paint strokes
Or careful pressure of a pencil
A pity.
They will declare that I
Could have been a showpiece
And won awards
Maybe they will ask
Why I was never completed
But know not to push the matter
As not to upset the artist.
Instead I am shut up in an attic
A dustsheet hiding me from view
Maybe I have become
Damaged from exposure
To sunlight and damp.
Maybe I have been forgotten
As an unfinished, abandoned project
A mark of shame
For the genius
Whose other works
Were a roaring success.
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Legend has it, he was born a dancing flame.
But he doesn't burn because he's angry.
He burns because he's hungry.
A starving artist, ignited by the truth.
Legend has it, he was born in a pool of passion.
The Gods shook with envy because they created a better man on accident.
Earth trembled when he decided to grace it with his footsteps.
He was created to never be tamed.
An invention of rebellion.
Legend has it, the Grand Canyon was a direct result of his heartbeat.
When he announced his name, the tide shrugged and ate the shores.
His smile made the flowers laugh.
He speaks, and the wind sings through the trees.
A showpiece of devotion.
Legend has it, he's disguised in a *** of ordinary.
He's just a cup of coffee or a faded pair of jeans.
A million other men are labeled with his name.
They say the wind still sometimes whispers through the trees.
He is a heart more profound than a mortal heart could ever dream to be.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
When the blackness of night draws in,
I resort to my bedroom window-
My personal theatre.
I dim out the lights inside
To be affected by the light effects outside.
My eyes reflect the flashy hues
Of misty blue and pale crimson.
And here and there stretches of sketched gray:
And here and there a gleaming gold,
Or sadistic sepia,
Of the lamp-posts and headlights
That sweep on the dark road
Not minding the flow of mechanical life.
The edged silver is not to be forgotten;
It jumps in from here and there,
Steaming out of the replicas of the modern age
And also from the conquered Moon and soon to be conquered stars
Reflected off the more higher skyscrapers.
The silver of steel,
The silver of technology-
A mix of white and black,
A mix of light and dark,
A mix of good and bad.
Cars flash before me,
A blur mirroring the speeding age;
The skyscrapers mock the Moon.
Red, Blue, Green, Yellow etc.
The blackness of night
Masked under all the colours of white.
Lights and colours play their stage effects
The age is best to be defined
A flashy showpiece
That forgets the beauty of simplicity,
The beauty that is natural.
My mind wanders lost
On the notes of disturbed city life,
Wherein dims the music of the old good
Hope and memories
Glow like the Moon and stars in this darkness.
I stand stunned,
Just so helpless before
The sights of the modern age.
Sep 7, 2009
Sep 7, 2009 at 9:54 AM UTC
*Psst, Ms. Anthem! I'm talkin' to you,
You don't know what he's gonna do.
He's selling you down at Planet M,
He's ******* you and he's to blame.*
Didn't I tell you not to talk to strangers?
Haven't I warned you of the dangers?
Why're you hearing what he's telling you?
I created you; what did he do?
*You think he cares about any part of you?
Or what you'll cause the **** blessed to do?
You're his showpiece; he's the front-page story,
You're the sunshine; he basks in your glory.*
I mean what I make, every word that I sing,
it's awareness not revolution that I try to bring,
How'll they hear you if it ain't through me?
How'll they know me if I don't cut me a deal?
*He's just in it for the name and the fame,
his material thirst puts the causes to shame,
he could've walked around, guitar in hand,
a song on his lips, nights of head in the sand.*
How would we then be known in the public domain?
All my efforts would've gone right down the drain.
So I chewed on that cigar; sipped some champagne,
stepped aboard and took a ride on the gravy train.
*Now he'll talk of Dylan and other icons of the past,
well Lennon maybe a hero but never working class,
**** Jagger no one buys was a street fighting man,
and the Gallaghers scripted their masterplan,
He could've stayed true,
if he really wanted to...*
Well, me and you,
we wouldn't have got our rightful dues,
if I did what he wanted me to,
and stayed pure like a mule...
I rest my case, Ms. Anthem.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
Its not love
And it sure ain't respect
It isn't that I look up to you,
In fact the opposite.
My decisions you make
My dislikes you dictate
My actions you limit
My dreams you restrict
Confined to the consequences of your past actions
People's interference to view this show
you produce, present, an act all in one,
A one man show
The villain you are
The hero they think
Charming, pleasant and helpful,
Greedy, overbearing and forceful.
A showpiece on your windowsill I remain
Still sane
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Deep in the forest
Fed by the soil
Nourished by the sun and rain
It etched itself onto the sky.
As it receded from the ground
Its wings mourning the upward drift
Retained the earthbound bond
Passed the sky’s nectar into the soil,
Showering gratitude by casting its shadow
For all down below to soothe their weary frames,
Sheltering the potent ones from ravages up
So they like it one day grow into a behemoth.
Once clothed mankind’s nudeness
Now remorselessly denuded by the axe of progress
Twisted gnarled deformed at man’s pleasure,
Wizened mummy, in our room a showpiece furniture!
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 6:05 AM UTC
The caged bird sings because
it longs for freedom
to fly and be with its own kind
and to know what life is really about
and be able to share it with a soul mate.
That's why the caged bird sings -
a song of hope and for all we know
a mournful yet beautiful sad song
of longing for the life
it was created for and dreams of having
instead of being cooped up in a cage
playing a role that was
never intended by nature
for it to have and live
as a captive showpiece
for a higher evolved form......
the ultimate expression of cruelty
- to deprive another creature
of its natural born freedom.....
That's why the caged bird really sings!
Apr 15, 2018
Apr 15, 2018 at 11:09 PM UTC
I wish to tame a yeti,
who will fetch me power and pride.
A mermaid in my aquarium
to showpiece beauty and love,
Sindbad's Roc bird on my command
will carry my fancies far and wide.
Then my I- a gas filled balloon
will take me beyond my dreams.
22nd.Oct.2016
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
Confined and constricted,
Four walls given,
Curiosity for sale,
Freedom forgotten
Identity lost,
Merely a showpiece
Trophied and bound
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
When I was born my parents smiled,
Welcoming me into the world full of fiends.
In my tender age I developed many aspirations,
To be a doctor, lawyer, artist or a writer by profession.
But in that age I dint realize,
I was a girl and I wasn't allowed to fantasize.
These were just dreams which were meant to be broken,
Similar to the ones which break when you are woken.
As I started growing up the world seemed more brutal,
Objectifying me as a showpiece which is futile.
The men around resembled more like beasts,
Seeing whom the hatered has only increased.
As I walked through the road their eyes scanned me from tip to toe,
Penetrating through my body and tearing my soul.
My temperament could only be described by length of my clothes,
Characterizing me either as cultured or a *****
If I am loud I am more vulnurable to men,
And if I am soft I am dumb or restrained.
My weight my height my color is a matter of worry,
Coz who would like a fat short dark girl to marry?
There's a problem in all my moves.
So why should I bother and be a fool?
So Now that I don't give a ****
All the gentlemen out there kindly keep your thoughts mum and mouth shut!
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
Just a bug here i am
Wishing to fly with no wings
Stuck in these four walls cocoon
Waiting for the change future brings
Dreaming of the places I will reach
With those new shiny spotted wings
Alas!Am I waiting too long or I am just dreamer dud
Am I just a bug boiled in cocoon never to fly
Just a silk showpiece somewhere in someone's cupboard
At the corner where it doesnot even matches the colour codes
Ignored, dusty, never to be reached, never to be felt
I am just a bug wishing to fly
With no wings dreaming of sky
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 4:01 AM UTC
I see the quiet tones in your eyes,
Let them unveil, speak loud.
The ballads you write have no lies,
Pure and clean, like a cloud.
Soft ringing of the keys,
The piano has a taste to it.
Oh play something, please,
Say what you won't admit.
Maybe you like harsh music,
Something unpoetical.
I will let you lose it,
Anything that's radical.
You're so different, yet fine,
A painter's masterpiece.
Such a newcomer, yet mine,
My garden's showpiece.
So stay gentle like you are,
Hang your gaze at me.
Don't tilt your head too far,
Whisper quietly.
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
i don't like being stared at,
or glorified,
or looked at like i'm just a showpiece—
almost like a mannequin?
like i'm supposed to do your bidding,
or abide by your ideals.
i don't like being looked at
the way one would look—
when they're judging you for the smallest of hook,
the tiniest of details.
no, you're just aggravating—
there's nothing romantic about that stare.
kinda like—
the difference between being seen
and just looked at on the surface.
what is wrong with my brain,
why can't you seem to judge that?
i wouldn't despise it
if you were to give me the longing glances,
or the ones filled with care,
the kind where i know
they wouldn’t just drift top to bottom—
like fingers on a shiny sphere.
don't objectify me.
i know my worth,
even though i forget it sometimes.
it's a vulnerability
i intend to show.
i’m not the prettiest—
that still doesn't give you the right to know.
i hold the discomfort,
i hold my identity.
feels like shattering,
the moment a wrong glance or a finger
touches any part of my skin.
it's complex.
i don't think you'll understand it.
i'm a human—
not a model,
not an art piece
held up for judging.
you know they’d look at the one you love
the way you do at me right now,
when i tend to swerve.
the severity of it— you wouldn’t know.
what it's like to be criticised,
judged,
given looks everywhere you go.
i still don't understand
why i face them.
more than half come from lust,
and barely a few from the place of love.
i don't shake hands,
afraid of what i’ll touch,
what you’ll feel—
and later think about.
god, i shiver at the mere thought.
too much.
i could be worshipped,
held by the right hands,
but the wrong eyes,
and the wrong views—
they almost always
**** up this land.
can't walk,
can't talk,
can't laugh,
can't show.
if i'm to exist like a stone,
why can't i hurl back
and simply clone
all that you’ve done
and all that you’ve said?
i've got those stares creeping up my skin,
like slithering worms underneath my shin,
smothering me from the inside, like being smoldered in heat.
i feel like i might melt, or worse, fade away into nothing.
perhaps it wouldn't be so bad of a choice, if i'm to disappear.
for it is this feeling that sears, within and carries a scream.
sheer mockery, provided the serenity with which you return that gaze.
i hate you, i hate each one of you that's made me feel bare,
and not the way i'd want to be emotionally with the one whom i hold tender,
but the way— the way— the way—
oh please, let me just disappear.
don’t look at me
if you only wish
to see me as an object.
May 14, 2025
May 14, 2025 at 12:59 PM UTC
A night that changed the alignments of my stars.
A night that changed the meaning of my existence.
I realised why this universe had made me wait for this.
For this which was so 'ecstatic',
For this which was so 'unsullied'.
I stood on a land of roses
Sky of spring sun
And squall blowing my hair, it's fluanting
It heard someone saying it's the most beautiful thing on Earth.
That was my 'land'.
That was my 'to-be home'.
Bricks of promises
Cement of love
Colours of trust
And furnitures of a bit of lust.
People admired the house
But I loved the land.
It was there all 'lucent'.
It was there all 'proud'.
The spring brought a garden of Tulips
Yellow Daffodils
Purple crocuses
With yellow butterflies crowning them all.
It was the 'bliss'
It was the 'peace'.
In a blink July turned to August.
Skies got harsh on us
Rain washed away the Daffodils
And land got swampier.
My house trembled
Promises broke and love got washed away with rain while trust faded away and lust,
It was just a 'fancy'.
It was just a 'showpiece'.
I was oblivious to the fragility of my house
My brittle house couldn't even withstand the monsoon.
And here I was, befret of my house, my only house.
Weaker than never before, shattered and scattered.
Monsoon went on for long, quite long
Washing away all the cement of my love and hue of trust.
But I was there 'holding the land'.
But I was there 'witnessing the disband'.
Winter came
Froze everything
Nummed my mind
Cracked my skin
And did everything it could to make me leave my land
And I.. I gave in
I left.
But on my way I saw deluged land getting parched.
My land is here
And spring is near.
It was an 'indication'
It was a 'direction'.
Seasons weathered me down
But I planted the bricks again.
But this time it was just a batterd repugnant house.
No colours no furnitures
Just a house.
But it was there
But it was there.
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
ONE THE FIRST TIME WHEN THEY BOTH MET
HE LIKE HER AND SHE LIKES HIM
AND IF YOUR CALLING THIS
“FIRST SIGHT LOVE” THEN MAYBE YOUR WRONG
BECAUSE AT THE FIRST SIGHT WE LIKE ANTIC THINGS TOO
BUT WE JUST PUT THOSE THINGS AT HOME JUST AS A
“SHOWPIECE”.
JUST BECAUSE YOU BOTH TALK EVERY NIGHT
EVERY TIME AND IF YOU CALL THIS “LOVE”
THEN MAYBE YOUR WRONG
BECAUSE JUST BECAUSE OF THE LONELYNESS
TWO STRANGER CAN TALK TOO
IF SHE SAW A BOY AND HOLD YOUR HAND
AND WHEN YOU SAW A GIRL AND HE HOLD HER HAND
AND YOUR CALLING THIS “CUTE JEALOUSY” AS LOVE
THEN MAYBE YOUR WRONG
BECAUSE WE KEEP BIRDS JUST TO PUT THEM IN A CAGE
NOT TO LET THEM FLY AWAY
AND NOW IF THEY’RE BOTH ABLE TO UNDERSTAND EACH
OTHERS FEELINGS THEN YOU CALLING THIS LOVE
MAYBE YOUR WRONG
BECAUSE WHEN TWO BEGGARS ARE HUNGRY
THEY BOTH CAN FEEL THEY’RE EMPTY STOMACH
BUT THEY CAN GIVE FOOD TO EAT YOU
IF YOUR CELEBRATING YOUR ANNIVERSARY EVERY MONTH
AND YOUR CALLING THIS “LOVE”
THEN MAYBE YOUR WRONG BECAUSE
LOVE NEVER GIVES A DATE TO EXPLAIN YOUR LOVE
IT JUST HAPPENS
IF SHE IS PART OF HIS ALL INSTA AND SNAP STORIES
AND YOUR CALLING THIS LOVE THEN MAYBE YOUR WRONG
BECAUSE YOU CANT LIVE LIFE WITH FILTERS AND SAVE THEM
WE JUST LIVE IT IN THAT TIME, ON THOSE SPECIAL MOMENTS
BUT….
BEFORE TOUCHING HER BODY YOU TOUCH HER SOUL,
IF SHE SHOWS ALL HER HAPPINESS AND SADNESS,
BEFORE SHE GET NAKED, YOU NAKED YOUR ALL YOUR FEARS,
IF HER EACH ONE TEAR FELL ON YOUR SHOULDER,
AND SHE IS THE REASON OF YOUR SMILE,
THEN MAYBE, NOT MAYBE
IT IS LOVE….. AND IF YOU HAVE FIND THAT LOVE
JUST KEEP IT, NEVER LET IT GO
AND WHENEVER YOU GOT A CHANCE
WHEN EVER JUST TELL YOUR LOVES ONE
THAT “HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEM”
TELL THEM EVERY MINUTE THAT
“YOU LOVE THEM” THAT
“I ALWAYS LOVE YOU ALWAYS”
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:56 AM UTC
Those late night chats
Your kiddy style flirts
The way you made my heart melt
I still remember how it felt
The phone calls throughout the day
Assuring your care in every way
The miles distance part us today
As you live far far away
The gifts and cards you sent
Seeing these my days went
You never asked for a cent
BUT ONE DAY I LEARNT!
Everything was of show
The relationship was no more
You put me so low
The love dimmed its glow
Now its all pieces to peace
My heart is at ease
My brain tends to freeze
Whenever memories float like breeze
©sim
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC