9:30 PM

Seventh of seven (kind of romantic) dedicated poems.

Someone looking from behind those eyes
Finding it hard to believe whatever is real
As if whole of the experience is for naught
An ever consuming sleep possessing him
Unknowingly moves he, no clue to future
Unable perceiving lightly, he behaves odd
The clowns that make happy are only sod

Wishing the nights to consume all of days
That nobody wakes up; silence prevailed
Were there infinite time to fathom infinity
He would have gladly discoursed eternity
He would have sought eternal dimensions
This complexity is the definition of vanity
But time is limited to squander foolishly

Reality and fantasy, roamed he helplessly
Wishing the dominoes may come together
Although all players running hither thither
The feathers of the bird, plucked to nether
The contagious vainglory makes men flicker
Just like spectral cloak of ignorance; a river
The rebellion is only an aimless endeavour



Sixth of the seven dedicated (somewhat romantic) poems.

7:48 AM 10/07/2017

Divine Consumption

Let me sink if needs be
To let my soul discover
That our gods may kiss
And heart cries a river

If Moon is the mischief
The Sun who but yields
So is Man who is willing
In doing hideous deeds

You are all those stars
They never could see
You are all those scars
They never could heal

If rose is to be blamed
For her thorns hidden
Judge the blind ‘swell
And so sage’s wisdom

You are the very wine
That Gibran speaks of
They search for a grail
You are that very cup

Let me drink from you
The essence of the life
Knowledge of the self
For that’s what I strife

Now let me sink deep
So that I may dissolve
Consume me in toto
And so we can evolve


4:21 AM 25/06/2017

Fifth one of the seven (kind of romantic) dedicated poems.

A sheaf of corn has more to offer
Than those thousand selfish beings
And that sheaf is sufficient unto me
I worship you like that  very sheaf
While they pray for rain to happen
They call unto the crops to grow
They had sown the seeds of pepper
Yet want  the crop they hadn’t sown
When it grows to the convivial reap
I’ll be the most merry of all beings
I’ll be harvesting not crop but love
The very love my worship admixed
The retinue will arrive at my gates
Shamelessly beg for an ear or two
But the very love admixed in sheaf
In the hands of such improper beings
Converts to sloth, injustice and greed
When my love is the sheaf I worship
The difference she had me perceive
Twix envy and jealousy is vexing
Those all others but reap and sow
A flock of sheep; a bunch of scare-crows


Fourth of the seven dedicated (kind of romantic) poems.
20/05/2017 | 1:53 AM

Aureate Lexis Imbibed Anecdote of Amour

(Bombastic Vocabulary Incorporated Short Amusing Narrative of Love)

He has a jejune chortle
She has cherubic simper
Babbitry in his raiment
Blithe is her garment

Cheerful seems the lad
But furtive his sojourns
Doleful seems the lass
Yet a terpsichorean walk (1)

The modern blasé (2)  hidalgo (3)
The debonair maiden blasé (4)
Doddering are his fingers
While ignorant is the lass

In limericks he discloses
The riddles of his heart
In orisons she chants
Happenings of the past

Blunders he have made
While chasing off the harsh (5)
The muse is done with ruse
The past for lass has passed

Inebriating souse the love (6)
A larceny of the hearts
He obviated the words
While she obviated the lad (7)


(1) As if a step of dance (2) sophisticated (3) of lower Spanish nobility (4) unconcerned (5) intoxicated by love (6) those strange thing people do to cover up their insecurities (7) made his existence unnecessary


Let me know if there is a need of simplification of the vocabulary pomp.



Third one of the seven dedicated (kind of romantic) poems.

One day ago I stood ‘neath the shed
After two long days of sojourns; I feel fresh
Three long years it have been; seems yesterday
Four days to leave; four years I’ve swayed
Five more things to do; five more leaps to make
Six more things be shaken adrift in my wake
Seven laws will bind my Monalisa to me
Eight times I’ve proposed to her
Nine times she have declined
Monalisa does not smile
Monalisa does not cry
I long to see her smile; her cheeks turn rose
I long to be next to her; spend some more time
Long live Monalisa; long live you love of mine
Eight more times I’ll try
For seven lives our fates we’ll bind
Six part worth of courage; six part worth of care
Fifth thing is to make her smile
Fourth is to stare at her for a while
Third is to go get down on my knees
Second is to go get a deep breath
First is to make sure I know
For the best way to love
Don’t believe; just know
What if she say sorry you do love me; but I don’t
Is that the end no more shall I try?
She said no, it has been a day since
I still stand ‘neath the tree; not much do I wish
The eagles above me soar high
The land beneath me seems nigh
This day I wish this night should consume
Embrace me Sun; burn me down
I’ll move on; I’ll be alright
I am fain upon her gaze; I faint at mere surmise
Of Monalisa as she does smile


Second of the seven dedicated (kind of romantic) poems.

Ah! the melodious caw of crows
The sweet scent of rotten flesh
Beautiful fallen leaves and twigs
That enchanting gait of a wolf

She sings like a crow, my love
She smells of dripping blood
She looks like a burning twig
She walks like a hungry wolf

She holds me in her arms tight
As if a snake is choking its prey
My love is so precious and calm
Yet my love drives me insane

Her fingers are thin and pale
As ugly as a festered wound
Her nose sharp and polished
Her hair messy but pruned

With taste of my devotion
Her beasts shall melt alive
Under her divine subjection
I chant those odious cries

One in a billion and strange
The fulcrum of my existence
I, the vile and the deranged
How will I ever live without

So when my love went afar
I went through the adverse
All of hatred she festooned
That hatred found my love


First of the seven dedicated (somewhat romantic) poems.

Porcelain (Hymn of the Wolf)

Selene… serene is suffice
Sullen sand, soft surprise
Supreme, sophisticated
She should supervise
She shouldn’t surmise
The porcelain doll is sold
The men are porcelain
Porcelain men are sold
The sold men shall slay
Let not consume, the vice
Be summoned not tonight
Amidst the forest of mice
Where warmongers reside
Men have become like us
Now they murder our kind
Selene… serene is suffice

Selene, you hear the cries
The wolf woes for thee
Oh my wonderful bride!
Ever so brilliant and wise
Thence came to senses, I
Selene, serene is suffice
Let not be ridden mad
By the lights that you see
and fools harboring pride
Be summoned not tonight
In the land which patronises
The gods and demons alike
When the wolf shall plead
Upon your loss, my pride!
Selene… serene is suffice