To write I wish
But the odds are against it
A pen will I use
Quail feathers it’s made of
A parchment will suffer it
And with the skill of Mathurin
I will pour out rivers
My heart is flooded
And tremors from within
Antidotes I need
Bunkers to calm the tempest
Before this vessel is sunk
All these are hopes
Arms were lost at sea
At the battle of Kerbourchard
Eyes has lost its lights
Desert storms turned them off
Only my mind
Only my heart
Can write
And only the wind
Can read my mind.
Vanity is thy futile attempt for immortality
Mundane words to inundate insane minds
Truth in a basket of lies
Incoherent thoughts fleeing a fleeting mind
Bound together by lines & meter of poetry
I hear their wailings
Like cry of wolves at midnight
Yes I hear their murmur
Complaining of hunger and thirst
They scream at the stutter of guns
And only I hear them
I’m trying to calm them
But they are too much a multitude
And it’s like beating the wind
Or breaking an expanse of water
All in futility
Not for once
Will they stop
Till I hug the earth
In an unending embrace
Then will I stop
Hearing them?
But they will never stop
No, not after eternity
What comes after sunset?
It wraps itself wisely in a black shawl
And lingers till the come of dawn
Silently, it comes like a steward of sheol
Besieging us with sleep, its favorite pawn
Beautiful, yet withholding dark secrets
It has a lice head
That mortal’s gaze at with awe and wonder
I dare not call you night
Because you are not just the absence of light
They stare deep into your inner-soul
Strip away your clothes one by one
Whittle away your skin from the bones
Like you are caressed by cold, dry winds
They effortlessly grind your bones into powder
And cook your marrow in a broth
They stare deep into your inner-soul
‘Cos that’s all that is left to see
Your indifferently stark naked soul
With it’s shrunken genitalia
Shy from their cold piercing stare
Better bare all before them
Let them drink deep in your sadness
Let them shiver in your secret fears
Let them laugh that savage laughter
Of animatistic mating cry
Nothing else will appease them
Than your very inner-soul
Just pray
Pray they do not strip your inner-soul
To gaze at the nothingness
That lies within it.
Truth is a lie that was never told
Its anatomical position can never be determined
Not even by Vesalius.
Great fools who wrote history,
(Lies we believed and claimed was true)
Can’t be proved otherwise
Because truth was never told
By those fallen greats who fell on the battlefield.
Fallacy sits on the throne of reasoning,
Truth when told instantly becomes a lie.
Word of mouth is trickier than the currents of Zambezi.
So when I whisper in your ears or weep at your feet,
As long as words drop from my sweet lips,
Deem it a theatrical worthy feat.
Just to tell a true lie !!!
Once upon a time
A pencil was to the Griot
As a sword was to the soldier
As he scribbled truth in patterns of petals
To stab the jackboot like a thousand daggers
How can you be so treacherous?
And make us forget the roots and rules
Of what we have come to know as poetry.
All of a sudden, our art became a mime
For scruffy spoilt kids with words that riot
Compositions worthy to be charged of murder
The pencil made way to things made from alloys of metals
We listened because we had no choice like beggars
To incoherent literature that would have made Milton leprous
The jackboot has turned you and your people into tools
To shatter poetry like a piece of pottery.
I saw you by looking away from you
First smelt your labour-laden sweat
then I heard your gruff-granite voice
Your bitch-slap brought my first cry
I saw you by looking away from you
Labour-laden sweat from the all night’s sweat
Gruff-granite voice from the all night’s wailing
Your bitch-slap because I was indifferent to it all
I saw you by looking away from you
The nemesis of pleasure is my name
Your cryish-laughter meant pleasure
I was seeded into your fertile loam
In a moment of reckless painful-pleasure.
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