Heaven Is a Riddle

Do souls fly
or
climb an invisible flight of stairs
to reach Heaven?
Or do they just
grow springs
under their hooves
and skip up there?
Does God toss
a hawser
to heave them up
or
do eagles tote
them to Heaven?
Do they lift themselves up
on one another's crest
to reach Heaven
or
do they simply evaporate,
like water?
Do they bag great power
to transplant themselves
to Heaven
or
is the white light
they get sucked into
a secret spout
that reaches Heaven?
Do occult, unseen
Goliaths exist
to lift them up
or
do they climb our buildings
to reach Heaven?
And what do they do
in Heaven?
Sit on clouds
and hunt birds
or shake hands
with God?
Drop cotton candy
on us
or watch us dancing secretly
and laugh?
If heaven is so mysterious
what about hell?
Do they dig deep pits?

Pictures

Diamonds are preciousand, 
in no time, theived

Pearls affixed with love

sew stronger the green-eyed monster inside
Late night dinners and calls
fall between the cracks overnight
But pictures eternally stay adored.
Pictures are memories. 

Pictures hung on the wall
reminding one of the time
he was born
and held in the hands of his blissful mother,
tickled by unknown faces
loved by all
oh! that sweet face
on the wall
with those little lips
parted and hands clutching ma's pointer with hope. 

Pictures behind the frame
transporting one to the time
he had his first trip to Europe,
or the awkward family photo
on the beach sipping coconut water
soaking the sun and rating schoolgirls.
Pictures of the first date,
first school dance,
first haircut,
first band photo.
Pictures make memories.
Memories that can be taken along
to the grave
that can sleep on your chest
just as you sleep infinitely
under the deep layers
the picture will remain till
you are reduced to
a mere bag of bones,

even that will be a memory

slid in a daughter's billfold.

A Midnight Ago

Hair turns gray

and soul turns wild

all you need

is a midnight's time.

A midnight ago,

(a star studded 

somber sky with

whispers of affection

swimming in air)

the road looked dead

yes, dead

and clear

only a midnight ago

today it is packed

with unrecognizable tribes

walking past me,

unwilling to clean

my arms ceiled with wounds.

A midnight ago

my arms were pure

and you were here

stroking my hair

with your fingers,

alone on the road

we talked of love

you kissed me

and vowed to buy me

puppies.

Today

the stench of 

your blood

barks my arms

and my fingers are

capped with your blood,

the road is brimming

with men

but who takes notice

of ghosts?

A midnight ago

you lied about

loving me

you only loved

my flesh.
I used my nails
as weapons
to escape
your 'love'.

Today

my flesh is left

somewhere in the woods

to rot.

A midnight ago

I was alive.

Margaret

A message in a bottle

swam to me

and knocked my foot,
its soft hard up whisper echoed
“read me, read me”
and so I did.
The papyrus capered
as I uncorked the bottle
and I heard her utterances,
“This sea is a lie.
Blue is only a colour
you cannot draw in its scent
and balm your soul.
No, you cannot.
It is a lie.
You cannot immerse
your lower limbs in the sea
to shed those icky memories
sprouting out your hooves.
No, you cannot.
It is an illusion,
a lie.
You cannot sprawl naked
on your back
and savor the minty clouds
that pace through your body,
it is a trap
it will possess your body.
Yellow is only a colour
that makes autumn petals cry,
the colour that bites the hand that feeds it
it cannot be trusted.
And now you cannot fragment
your thoughts
and grant even a pinch of it
to the sun,
it will burn your thoughts
and reduce it to cinders.
The sun is a lie.
The world is a lie.
And I am a mistake”
My hands shuddered
“Margaret” was the last word.
I heard myself panting.
Her voice echoed
and I found myself shawled
with her blessings.
But, she was a lie.

Amaranthine

When the sun, the light, the day
begins to retreat, the darkness slowly slays the light
everything conveys the message of being meek.
The trees stand tall on the real estate,
with their crowns bowed down,
the wind lulls something into their ears,

they fall ruined and in sleep they drown.
The flowers look obscure,
and muted and dun,
it’s chroma haltingly fades away,
just like the subsiding sun.
All the quadruped mortal animals look for a cave,
where they feel guarded and inviolable,
because the witching hour,
cannot be conspicuously decipherable.
With the ingress of the dark occasion,
old and young sprawl in coma,
aphid bob up and inherit the gloom,
the eventide has it’s own aroma.
This darkness conceals masses of lies,
heaps of truth and piles of crimes,
affairs that cant be disguised by man,
is sequestered by the shadow of calumny.
But akin to the whole ball of wax,
the night reaches its borderline,
like every heinous character gets polished off by the god’s messenger,
the lambent light kills the cimmerian shade.
Once more the dame sings the aubade,
and embraces the flare,
exhilaration can be sensed in their hearts,
as they turn on the light at the end of the tunnel and with hope they glare. 

The Unsung Melody

Sing me the melody I wanted to hear,
don’t take too long or you’ll find me in a casket bier,
because I have already waited too long,
to listen to your mellifluous song,
that song you said was contrived for me,
that song you never made me see.

A part of me inside is dying,
there’s no vindication for me to be crying,
my ears are waiting for that chime,
that can’t be annihilated by no ode, no rhyme,
no king, no Caesar, no crown head,
can shoot ahead of what you have said.

I brood over the accede you had made,
but I can see it nonchalantly fade,
what am I supposed to encipher from this,
grief, sorrow, misery or bliss ?
i’m craving to get a load of the melody,
you said you had contrived for me.

Deep Convulsions

At the break of day,
when the cuckoo lifted up a voice
pulling all afar from dormancy,
there ascended the red star
that blazed through the dimness
smiling from a cloistered corner.
It had the features of dismay
and gave a companionless glare
to the heavenly body that whirled around it,
it leered at us with awe
and strove to bury the overturned grin
which was acutely herculean.
The spheres abut asked the sun
“wherefore look’st thou sad?”
in a bothered infliction,
but the sun simply cloaked it’s dejection
because anything at all it was swallowing
it learnt no one would assimilate.
It moaned when no one peered
it attempted to simper and
award hope to all and sundry,
but his faith was consumed
by contention and bloodshed
it had witnessed enough of malady and distemper.
It eyed a chiliad that cried
and jillions that died
yet couldn’t screech to a halt but bemoan,
riff raff killed and died
extirpated their own livingplace
this left the sun unsettled.
It everyday went through discomfort
noting the residers of the globe
annihilate their own fellow mates,
heaps of carcasses cruised
through the red lake
and none was concerned.
The brightest star had seen the Earth
germinate from nullity
just like a little child,
it frolicked around negligently
and mothered all the earthlings generously.
Perhaps the brainless earthlings
are over cold-blooded to comprehend
the works and deference it,
instead the mankind has made
all sins to despoil it
and has begun to axe the mother that nurtures them.
This concerns the sun
it has perceived it can do nothing
but blandly howl,
it knows none would sense it
because they have begun to envisage
and nail themselves in God’s spot.
If you raise your bills,give ears and scan the sun
you will hear it yowl,
for the blue marble,
for the warfares it has recognized
for all the affliction bred.

God In All

This sphere is an ethereal corner,
with beautiful, exemplary heads,
some embrace the bonne qualités,
and others endorse to pillar the bad.

No one has arrived sinful to the sublunary world,
nobody can abscond sinful from this globe,
just as clean as a whistle and as innocent as a lamb,
every error is disrobed.

God has a spot in all our souls,
which makes us all so pure,
no matter how lowbred we strike as,
a congenial person guards us from within our thoughts.

I Need You

Touch me gently

with your caressing mitts
oh, it feels so good
just like a diminuendo fugue
playing in a forlorn cage,
like the blue azure
curtaining the heinous shadow,
like the beginning of spring
and the chortling gust,
your touch is a conjuring trick
there’s an enchanter behind that mask
I see it,I see you,I need you.

Let that suave beam
suck away all my vacuous theories
and create a vacuum
to stow devotion for all mortal beings,
oh, that beam illuminates my world
for me, to balance on the trail according to hoyle
that surpassing beam
I see it,I see you,I need you.
Look at me lovingly
I am beautiful to you
you scan me consummately
so tell me what’s wrong?
am I flawless?
as pellucid as you?
am I enticing?
or brilliant like you?
your eyes consume my sorrows
but I want to be like you
you are immaculate
yes, I see it,I see you,I need you.

A 'Blue' Fable

I glare at the sky
oh, so blue
I still have memories
of the last time I flew.
I had sprawled my feathered flappers
and taken an animate breath
never realising
my freedom was to collide with death.
I was climbing the sky
up, up and so high,
I was not afraid of falling
not afraid to die.
My wings appealed for some rest
my pecker was too baked to reply,
so I landed for some leisure
on dust from the sky.
I nipped atoms of grubs
and drank buckets of scum,
corn, cereal and mote
was soon stored in my tum.
Suddenly I was being hoisted up
fingers blanketed my shape,
my wings dangled and I peeped
I savagely attempted to escape.
I was plunked in an aviary
away from the sun,
away from my tribe
I craved to run.
Now the aviary is my home
and this thought makes me cry,
I have to subsist myself here forever
and here will I die.
My eyes follow all the democratic birds
that aimlessly aviate,
I glare and I glare
and I glare..

About her

I wrote about her yesterday
about how perfectly her body crust blooms
when she’s happy (or when she’s with him),
about how perfectly her hair floods on her shoulder
(my fingertips crave to boat through it),
about how perfectly her eyes glisten
to illuminate his darker side,
about how much she’s in love with satan
as I bury my head in sand.
I know she’s not on cloud nine
she’s forging a smile on her scarred face
trying to evade his image that blazes before her eyes.
I will help her forget him
with buckets of love I will jam pack her dry soul,
but does she really want to forget him?
Maybe not.
I will never dismiss her from my mind
I can’t.

Kiss Me Goodnight

You are magic and so I plead
Kiss me goodnight 
To assure me i’m asleep
And everything betiding

Is just in my dream.
With that withered book in your hand
(that book your father read to you in your young days)
You sat beside me on my bed
“Let’s read about fays, gremlins and nymphs tonight” you said
With my soul dipped in happiness
And my mouth aped in glee
Revealing only an incisor
I nodded as hard as my head could manage.
After the prince uttered his vows
You shut the book and kissed me on the forehead
“Goodnight”.

I shut my eyes
And the wind blew by
Butterflies without wings, lying sore on the ground
Flowers with no scent perishing with no sound
Ammo flying in air
Piercing through the hearts of those feathery things
My heart fluttered loudly
My eyes yawned open as I cried “STOP” at 1.
You sat up from coma and kissed me tenderly
“It was only just a dream” you said with that soothing curve on your face
And I convincingly bolted my eyes again.

 Kiss me again, please
Tell me it’s not real
Tell me i’m just caged in one of those ordeal visions
Then I would know it’ll end.
I don’t want to be fenced in forever
Without a blessed finale,
The thought pricks my organs. 

So please
Kiss me goodnigh
tI’ll come by your grave.