The revolutionary dilemma

What to rekindle a revolutionary theme to spark the light of fire?

The poulace is under the burden of heavy debt for they want nothing

The knowledge from valid scheme of life is welcome to revolutionize

the jungle where the kings played Billiards only to discourse on love

And party with dancing in the open as if the gunslinger has fired shots

as loose canons to celebrate the love that could be brought of money

in the bank and to felicitate history as the keg pin to launch revolution

while he listened to the pragmatic thought of his consicousness whether

to upstage the revolution or uphold the his rhythymic love for the queen

his heart was divided into two, the more vain he became the more he loved

the revoltion in the jungle and its being.

 

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The Spooky Guitar

Wanted a tambourine sound on a guitar

silently to pluck the real power off the chords

and play the Nordic song of separation

As is the air waft with the scent of eloping rain

Wait! Listen to my heartbeat and then strum the wire

to the exact melody of fortune for the businessman

becoming something else, an igloo to begin with and dance

forlorn with a long face drawn in favor of rendezvous

under the railway bridge where we light the fire with a beer

and  to close the pugmarks, we sprinkle the snowy residue

and it is abandoned to the Guitar beat, the gypsy song

which you shared with and rushed off with coffee

while I kept on beating the guitar till the morning

I supress the kiss of the woods under my feet

as the last song is played on the spooky Guitar beat!

A Mortuary

Morbid and death stood silent watcher to the

song of lovers deep in the den of marauders

who having won the war for Africa now were

a bunch of laymen running a mortuary where

they would bury all those who were lost to the jungle

In the wake of aliens swarming the forests in

a search of etheral gold found on the planet earth

and the gentler folk of Eurpoean cascade bringing

fire to the forests burning all those found on land

and the marauders picking the souls of the dead

on their sunken shoulders say about mercenaries

going haywire under the burning sun that torpids

land scroched with blood and heat, as the mortuary

was full of gothic spirirt and the charms of the slain

An adieu was uttered by a maiden to his first love

who was brought dead from the alien swipe while

European conquest stood imperial and isolated

Mortuary was full of the stench mixed with cropses

of the stocky built of either race Alien or European

in the middle of Africa- the land of nowhere!

 

The lovesome

Those gilded love panes as the car windows

direct the sunlight deeper into the reams of life

she looks askance and withdrawn look further

away into the distance, waiting for the footsteps

to wring into her heartbeat the solemn song of

the boats on the lake as if dames returning from snow peaks

have halted by chance to catch a glimpse of a pair of blue eyes

The Vortex

Of the mean feet, an outpouring of oneself

as walking on the never ending tarrain

till nothing is reached but the self

into the vortex of thought that birds wing

and draw inspiration as a maiden sings

how the ideas are drawn into things?

the spirit of energy being sucked in, the ling

embracing the unknown and invisible impinge

upon the restless mind and occupy the hevanely seat there in

A Room with a view

The  dust of these ridiculous slippers

Slip past the maroon room with a view

of a bay sunken under the railway line

and oh she said what a view!

Of the men ploughing in the garden

and maids going on the bay in boats

singing the forlorn songs of separation

and death to the being.

She picked up a flower indeed on a whiskey binge

there is more to lipstick than glam slam

of unearthly yeast working on the lips

and he kept on thinking for a long time,

long time indeed about her and me!

The dead skull

The rivulet tells the tale of dead flowers

and with them the dead winter in vale

There the fame is skimmed as tame luck

for the footballer who saw the dead skull

but in vain of the days gone by the scheme of death

she sings the song of the dead and bestowed flowers

on her lover’s grave and saw

the magic and epiphany of  hate

bring the dead skulls in season’s wake.