I am busy
Don’t be fussy
I am busy too
“Let’s have lunch,”
“I have a boyfriend”
Is he hungry too??
I can’t
I won’t
I don’t
Those…
Those are damn excuses
If it means something
Or ever meant a thing
You will…definitely
Scale heights
Take weights
No excuses
You will…without a sweat
Put a little effort
A simple thought
A word
An emoji
If it means something
Or ever meant a thing
You will make a ring
Or put a ring
It won’t cost dime
To offer a little time
But it will cost
And also hurt
If you don’t
Societal courteousness
Disguised rudeness
Do not shade the truth
Be it
Say it
As it is
Black and White
No excuses.
Thursday, 25 June 2015
RAW LUST
The pendulum of time swings
Chiming leisurely with the winds
Harmoniously with the pulse
Of a heart so eager to please
Building a momentum
With the beat of the night
Dancing to the tune
Of raw lust
Nothing of commonality
Draws them together
Not the color of the skin
Not the language of their tongues
Not even their age
Only a need
A need of the pocket
A need of emptiness-
Vague
Blank
Abyss-like emptiness
That gnaws a man’s heart
Like a rat on a morsel of bread
She dances,
He watches
She dances-
Not for him to please
But to appease
Her ghosts of broken self
Dancing on the mirror
Across the hall
And he watches
Silently puffing
The smoldering cigar
And in his eyes,
A strange dance
A raw need
A blunt desire…
The dance hits the high
Bodies draw nigh
Soaking in sweat,
Out of different reasons
Momentarily succumbing
To the heat of the moment,
She gives up to him-
Unto his raw lust…
He adds a crack unto her soul
Handsomely filling her pocket
…But for what?
…A lifeless life?
Chiming leisurely with the winds
Harmoniously with the pulse
Of a heart so eager to please
Building a momentum
With the beat of the night
Dancing to the tune
Of raw lust
Nothing of commonality
Draws them together
Not the color of the skin
Not the language of their tongues
Not even their age
Only a need
A need of the pocket
A need of emptiness-
Vague
Blank
Abyss-like emptiness
That gnaws a man’s heart
Like a rat on a morsel of bread
She dances,
He watches
She dances-
Not for him to please
But to appease
Her ghosts of broken self
Dancing on the mirror
Across the hall
And he watches
Silently puffing
The smoldering cigar
And in his eyes,
A strange dance
A raw need
A blunt desire…
The dance hits the high
Bodies draw nigh
Soaking in sweat,
Out of different reasons
Momentarily succumbing
To the heat of the moment,
She gives up to him-
Unto his raw lust…
He adds a crack unto her soul
Handsomely filling her pocket
…But for what?
…A lifeless life?
MORNING PRAYER
The morning chill
Cold, hard like steel
Stinging like a wasp
Harsh on the old skin
He shivers…
Not only from the cold,
But from an empty belly too
He clutches his broom-
It feels familiar;
His companion every morning,
Sweeping the coarse street floor
The church bell chimes
Reminding the faithful
Of their dutiful morning prayer
He poses;
Takes a breathe
And faces the church
Bowing to the crucifix
Towering high
Glowing gold
Polished by the morning rays
He whispers a familiar prayer
An empty prayer
Void of a connection
With the deity who gives hope
An empty prayer
Resonating disillusionment
Smelling hopelessness
This Morning Prayer-
Brings no hope
But raises fear;
Fear of passing time
A hollow dread;
A dread of the ticking clock…
A reminder of eternity
Unfulfilled dreams
Un-kept promises
A futile life lived…
Reminiscing the hungry days
Days of unanswered questions
Yet he offers his supplications;
Faithfully fulfilling his duty
Hoping for redemption:
From the chains of self
Faithfully performing his chore
Silently sweeping
Wishing he could sweep away
The clutter in his life’s path,
A path course from trod
Filled with dirt of the past
And fulfill his destiny-even if for a day
As a man who prayed and lived!
Cold, hard like steel
Stinging like a wasp
Harsh on the old skin
He shivers…
Not only from the cold,
But from an empty belly too
He clutches his broom-
It feels familiar;
His companion every morning,
Sweeping the coarse street floor
The church bell chimes
Reminding the faithful
Of their dutiful morning prayer
He poses;
Takes a breathe
And faces the church
Bowing to the crucifix
Towering high
Glowing gold
Polished by the morning rays
He whispers a familiar prayer
An empty prayer
Void of a connection
With the deity who gives hope
An empty prayer
Resonating disillusionment
Smelling hopelessness
This Morning Prayer-
Brings no hope
But raises fear;
Fear of passing time
A hollow dread;
A dread of the ticking clock…
A reminder of eternity
Unfulfilled dreams
Un-kept promises
A futile life lived…
Reminiscing the hungry days
Days of unanswered questions
Yet he offers his supplications;
Faithfully fulfilling his duty
Hoping for redemption:
From the chains of self
Faithfully performing his chore
Silently sweeping
Wishing he could sweep away
The clutter in his life’s path,
A path course from trod
Filled with dirt of the past
And fulfill his destiny-even if for a day
As a man who prayed and lived!
HOOKING AND CROOKING
She apparels her goods
Along the streets awaiting
The fall of the crooks
Under the disguise of the dark
For they can’t fathom the look
Of reality
She awaits patiently
Praying silently
For the night
To turn right
Thirst of her pocket
To get purged
Oblivious of the next knock
Beyond the ticking clock
Conceals of the hearts
Of the crooks cracks in their souls
She hopes that all turns bright
Just like the beautiful night
Lit up by the magnificent moonlight
Shining forth for all to see
For all not to stumble
In the drabs of the night
It’s hooking and Crooking
The hookless dying penniless
The crooks dying soulless
They hook and crook
The game of the night.
Waiting for the sun to rise
Clear the gloom of the night
Remind the sour soul of mortality;
Mask tears unshed,
Pains unhealed,
Closure unachieved.
The light all the traces
Of the turmoil within
Buoyantly bouncing to the tides
Of the day
Like no shit happened
Like no perversion stole the mind
Like all is under check
Yet with the falling of the night
Sirens click in the hearts
More determinedly
They apparel their wares
Empty thighs and bare chests
For the crooks to cringe
And hook for the pleasure
For they die anyway
For that’s the life they chose
Hooking and Crooking
Along the streets awaiting
The fall of the crooks
Under the disguise of the dark
For they can’t fathom the look
Of reality
She awaits patiently
Praying silently
For the night
To turn right
Thirst of her pocket
To get purged
Oblivious of the next knock
Beyond the ticking clock
Conceals of the hearts
Of the crooks cracks in their souls
She hopes that all turns bright
Just like the beautiful night
Lit up by the magnificent moonlight
Shining forth for all to see
For all not to stumble
In the drabs of the night
It’s hooking and Crooking
The hookless dying penniless
The crooks dying soulless
They hook and crook
The game of the night.
Waiting for the sun to rise
Clear the gloom of the night
Remind the sour soul of mortality;
Mask tears unshed,
Pains unhealed,
Closure unachieved.
The light all the traces
Of the turmoil within
Buoyantly bouncing to the tides
Of the day
Like no shit happened
Like no perversion stole the mind
Like all is under check
Yet with the falling of the night
Sirens click in the hearts
More determinedly
They apparel their wares
Empty thighs and bare chests
For the crooks to cringe
And hook for the pleasure
For they die anyway
For that’s the life they chose
Hooking and Crooking
MONEY SMELLS
Have you smelt a brand new note?
or an old tired one?
both tells a tale
tales of hunger
tales of satisfaction
tales of so many hands caressing
tales of tales told for it to gain
tales of lies told for it to satiate
tales of blood
tales of tears
tales of brokenness
tales of guile
tales of stress
tales of misery
tales of victory too
Money smells
a smell that reminds the soul
of its inability to tame
this thirst of the note
and this smell has made many marry
so many to tarry
so many scarred
so many scared
so many timid
so many men unmanly
and so many women unwomanly
Money smells
and this smell
to some it chokes
to others it shocks
to others it strangles
and to the least it heals
like balm on a broken toe
or an old tired one?
both tells a tale
tales of hunger
tales of satisfaction
tales of so many hands caressing
tales of tales told for it to gain
tales of lies told for it to satiate
tales of blood
tales of tears
tales of brokenness
tales of guile
tales of stress
tales of misery
tales of victory too
Money smells
a smell that reminds the soul
of its inability to tame
this thirst of the note
and this smell has made many marry
so many to tarry
so many scarred
so many scared
so many timid
so many men unmanly
and so many women unwomanly
Money smells
and this smell
to some it chokes
to others it shocks
to others it strangles
and to the least it heals
like balm on a broken toe
FEAR WITH FACE
At times I’m afraid
I taste it
I smell it
this nightmarish fear
Not a fear of what I’m
but what I’m becoming
At times I’m afraid
Filled with this
gothic fear
A fear with a face
Not a fear of where I’m
but of what the next breathe brings
But this fear
this fear with a face
this fear without a trace
leaves me in a trance
but with a choice
this fear
that scares the shit out of me
is immutable
dumb silent
waiting
brooding
sizing
timing
the opportune moment
to pounce and maim
But maybe
Maybe before then I’ll be dead
or courageous enough
to run to my fears
or mate in the darkness
waiting in limbo
like a lost a lost zombie
But maybe
this fear with a face
will help me unmask mine
pull off these masquerades
these plastic smiles
these procrastinations
and face ME head-on like a man
I taste it
I smell it
this nightmarish fear
Not a fear of what I’m
but what I’m becoming
At times I’m afraid
Filled with this
gothic fear
A fear with a face
Not a fear of where I’m
but of what the next breathe brings
But this fear
this fear with a face
this fear without a trace
leaves me in a trance
but with a choice
this fear
that scares the shit out of me
is immutable
dumb silent
waiting
brooding
sizing
timing
the opportune moment
to pounce and maim
But maybe
Maybe before then I’ll be dead
or courageous enough
to run to my fears
or mate in the darkness
waiting in limbo
like a lost a lost zombie
But maybe
this fear with a face
will help me unmask mine
pull off these masquerades
these plastic smiles
these procrastinations
and face ME head-on like a man
TWENTY SOMETHING
Turning one more year today
another addition feather in this life’s convoy
I realize time flies fast, flashy
and the hand of time waits for no sundry
it is another move to the edge
another step from the ledge
I realize I’ve got to leave the hedge
for responsibility flies on age
I am scared
scared of growing old
afraid of turning cold
as I grey
afraid of failing to garner enough gold
I’m scared of the turning numbers
the speeding of mine days
YET I am grateful
for God has been faithful
making my days full
healthy and strong
YET I am grateful
for those days of fulfillment
for those days of want.
Moments of happiness
and moments of sadness
Yes I am grateful
for making it this far
turning twenty something years
Its a day to reflect
and memories to collect
churn one more thread
in this mine crochet
get synced in the rhythms of the fleeting
moment
appreciate every breathe
live consciously of eternity
Man’s mortality
Man’s frailty
It is a day to defect;
transit from all that which will affect,
mine destiny
clean up my closet
shove aside all clutter
Yes I’m twenty something years old
and this plucks a chord in my soul
Yet I’m grateful to God
for his unfailing grace.
This glass is raised
a toast to you all
for being part of my story
my history
Smile with me as we make a memory
a chapter for the century.
another addition feather in this life’s convoy
I realize time flies fast, flashy
and the hand of time waits for no sundry
it is another move to the edge
another step from the ledge
I realize I’ve got to leave the hedge
for responsibility flies on age
I am scared
scared of growing old
afraid of turning cold
as I grey
afraid of failing to garner enough gold
I’m scared of the turning numbers
the speeding of mine days
YET I am grateful
for God has been faithful
making my days full
healthy and strong
YET I am grateful
for those days of fulfillment
for those days of want.
Moments of happiness
and moments of sadness
Yes I am grateful
for making it this far
turning twenty something years
Its a day to reflect
and memories to collect
churn one more thread
in this mine crochet
get synced in the rhythms of the fleeting
moment
appreciate every breathe
live consciously of eternity
Man’s mortality
Man’s frailty
It is a day to defect;
transit from all that which will affect,
mine destiny
clean up my closet
shove aside all clutter
Yes I’m twenty something years old
and this plucks a chord in my soul
Yet I’m grateful to God
for his unfailing grace.
This glass is raised
a toast to you all
for being part of my story
my history
Smile with me as we make a memory
a chapter for the century.
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