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"tubelight" poems
Cockroaches, I can understand that if you had our ears, you would run at the screams of my little sister, who screams like she had seen a monster crawling on the walls of the washroom when instead she had just seen you strolling in the late evening basking the glory of tubelight. But me, I come from peace, I’m not disgusted by your existence. I do not get flabbergasted by your occasional flying skills. Infact I, say hi to you when I come to brush. But you, you go haywire in fear. Do you sweat? Is there something equivalent to that, that you do? You needn’t, I wish I could talk and tell you that I love you, and that I do not want to **** you.
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May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 1:31 AM UTC
arihant
An Ode to Cockroaches
Cockroaches, I can understand that if you had our ears, you would run at the screams of my little sister, who screams like she had seen a monster crawling on the walls of the washroom when instead she had just seen you strolling in the late evening basking the glory of tubelight. But me, I come from peace, I’m not disgusted by your existence. I do not get flabbergasted by your occasional flying skills. Infact I, say hi to you when I come to brush. But you, you go haywire in fear. Do you sweat? Is there something equivalent to that, that you do? You needn’t, I wish I could talk and tell you that I love you, and that I do not want to **** you.
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Brittle bones, knackered backs look where have we been, steaming bickering all within, faltering legs slipping through the streets, this man; would you still greet? Ashen lungs, falling through bruised hands; brimming of stench been home late, lately— this man; would you still put arms around? old shirt pieces, spectacles of destiny uttering broken-frames; for a new sweater weaved into his soul-born. this man, would you call a miser still? Look at those fingers, go across the keyboard— Look at the tubelight light those eyes up all night. this man would you still smile for? For once, let me know— this man, and his tears; would you bear upon your lap?
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Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 1:14 PM UTC
lokenathroy
THESE MEN
Brittle bones, knackered backs look where have we been, steaming bickering all within, faltering legs slipping through the streets, this man; would you still greet? Ashen lungs, falling through bruised hands; brimming of stench been home late, lately— this man; would you still put arms around? old shirt pieces, spectacles of destiny uttering broken-frames; for a new sweater weaved into his soul-born. this man, would you call a miser still? Look at those fingers, go across the keyboard— Look at the tubelight light those eyes up all night. this man would you still smile for? For once, let me know— this man, and his tears; would you bear upon your lap?
Continue reading...
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