Alack.

Passive and intolerant in language,
in talk - succinct, quick, and terse
And my inquiry runs upstream
to the sound of submissive verse.
Betwixt unfallen emotion, for we
unfailingly fall aside, then run riot
in tune with bickering of little people.
Little people are seldom quiet.
This chagrin shall reap void when
placed, in stanzas emulating stage
and then shall toil erupt in medium
to strangulate amain, this page.

Veto.

Perhaps I'd ease up and place a
hand across, evince and unpack.
Then a sullen evening's weight falls,
embracing my uncivil knack.
I'll strike the ruler off, with
potential armor thats pure, vestal.
Charades become miserly, anonymous
smiling on their steadfast pedestal.
Uneasily slow, knock the door and I
shall not read you in pretense.
For now the knives are drawn out
and a dark room becomes tense.
So hit, dab, dagger, and quit
the chape in time, sings beneath
the scabbard tilts in discussion
she swims the bloodied sheets.

Early Morning Inflation.

My umbrella slipped over the arm
and all rain smelt like shoe polish.
Tip tap on my eye glasses, resonating,
perhaps only to scold and admonish.
For I found no rationale in existence
explained with perfection in diction.
Fixing another unsoaken roach,
sneezing within a spliff second.
Two-drag-pass or a complicated name
repulsive air and titled frames,
as broken are my manipulative eyes
for those I remember in hindsight.

Derision.

I cannot grudge you for these
minutes of complete riot.
of when I am to hold guilty,
I'll tell myself in pale disquiet.
After brushing anxiety off
those words that aren't a must,
of how all the layers that settle
get to be nicknamed dust.
In tune of all the other days
when I'd wish to captain ships
and you harbored bitterness
anchored into your sanguine lips...

Adept.

Thrice, or four times
imposed and coerced,
laden, naive and concealed
prevent, tempted in attempt;
an option to let go, in vain.
Stilled and pursued,
ions rush my head, reign.
Another night eclipsed
this is pervasive pain...

X-Y = Dialogue 2

Y
Tepid and little uncertain
abrupt, playful and terse
unwilling to move further
this submissive verse.
And now that poetry gets
mechanical in all rhyme
why should I suppress?
what is not sublime, mine.

X
This verse culminates
knowledge illuminates
the darkest recesses
something suppresses.
I search for anger, sadness or hope
really, any sign of life
some days are just polite

Y
Inundated, sedated
melancholia invades
vexes, expresses
the gloom pervades.
Now I sit back and
give this another try
metaphorical, still
an unsuitable reply.

X
The gloom pervades
yet hope permeates
the dissidence of logic
the diligence of faith.
They shall never be apart
caught in between life, when
shadows cast lights
first love last rites.

Y
Palpable gloom aside
this happiness I evade
and minutes wasted
explaining what I once said.
Because sometimes this
imagination makes tinge
as funny thoughts reside
of a hope that does cringe.

X
Hope is incessant
so, alas is fear
I try and yet I fail
its my cross to bear.
Attempts to pretend
are futile in the end
as the world spins
"this bottle of henny wins".

Y
They shant disregard
writing thats incense
and I shall appreciate it
in all its brilliance.
Because when in splendor
it achieves significance
making our lives grandeur
in all their magnificence.
And thus, I'd pen these out
like a child drives a kite
and alone, they may seem little
but when together, an erudite's.

X
This pretense is intense
with fog so dense
there's always turbulence,
and with a micro lens
we look for clues
and search meaning
where none exists
it just is what it is,
so submit to it
without hope or agenda
just commit to it.

Y
The abundance of these thoughts
the assiduity, perseverance
and now when submitted
you feign that arrogance.
Because ignorance is yet
acceptable, in mere essence
but it can be misleading if the
pretext speaks incoherence.

X
Arrogance, an instance
insensitive ignorance
a word spoken erroneously
sometimes even a glance.
An emotion which gained freedom
trust lost; askance
still we chug along
until next time, so long...

Y
What was completed long ago
as simple as chalk and cheese
and as someone once remarked
no poem is as beautiful as a tree.
Because when its unconnected
the stanzas start to accumulate
and in fullness we become chagrined
it stays, slips, and then culminates.
Done.

X-Y = Dialogue 1

X
A blue fatigue, raising insinuation
a colouless plight, forlorn with glory
the first spring of death
randomness.
Walking on the motionless street
eyes reticent but still elusive
who weeps for the ones gone
the sky creeps from the hiatus begone.
The lone star is now the cinder
cracked open with blistering stymie
i write sans an erudite melancholy
plausible yet, is the color of money.

Y
Obtrusive glances steal a glimpse
as he tries to starve himself
of know how and escapades profound
whose feat are yellow 'neat the ground.
Turn, moon kissing the skyline
dearth in this missing puzzle
plausible yet demeaning,
this attempt that arises to ridicule again.
Eclectia is becoming common
morbid fantasies strike enthusiasm
shall strive for the benign chase
doubt that owns my grimace.

X
A withering flower, receding but alive
striving for a whiff of yellow
the first prayer offered to God
of feelings harsh and mellow.
A caustic smile brooding over a lie
fills the edema, silently, but
the recesses of the flowing neurons
pulsating with an energy so raw
the second prayer offered to love
I raise the extremities above.

Y
Tantalized by vanishing sky lights,
this melee in hypnotized crisis
a skirmish to get rid of dilapidation
charred, cessation of sensation.
Cold thoughts run haywire
tepid taunts rummage ze mind
mildew in this satire of words
this unfair poetic incline.
Now zither to provide hapless life
to all that that swims underneath
soliciting language in haunted strokes
there is numbness in my feet.
Sleep

X
This unfair poetic incline
the emotion so denied
an attempt ridiculed
grotesque is the irony of life
Finishing sentences before thoughts
the disparate cluster sans flourish
a blemish, a flirtation
the platitudes of fortitude;
a secret guarded more than life
denied to a stranger in guise
cryogenics be the answer
in this comedy so divine.
Sleep.

Y
We break away from rightful sleep,
little by little; piece by piece.
caffeine kept away at bliss, these hours
how they hang in there with their righteous souls.
Halo comes off, bordering dust off the periphery
a coma, stranded in unfamiliar territory
strains of chords slip eons back
rivers rushing, gunning for my ears.
Arriving at this domain of pessimistic write,
self compromising tunes tonight, tonight.
diluted within this sky, erased by light
inaudible screams, audible cries.

(With due courtesy to T...)

Legit.

My life contrasts poetry
when I'm alone in the rain
inasmuch as what Neruda said
was sincere of a standing train...

Stubborn.

For when I'm modestly dim, inebriated
she haunts with unsettled prowess
and my mind sells itself numb
giving into her silken, ginger caress.

For I have not been brave enough
to rattle in her mind this time
and she keeps within check
all of these muted, frozen rhymes.

For then a ready reckoner comes with
the bed on which she dropped the rum
and told me of how love is stitched
but the love song never hummed.

Temper.

And finally your fingers clipped
trying their best to win
and your hand studied my face
from the forehead to the chin.

So today I cut my fingernails
and clutched by face when
I did my best to figure out
what you had learnt back then...

I Threw A Brick Through A Window/ Laden.

Three bars too slow, precipitation
frames slide off the shelf
moving alone in anticipation
shadow of her former self.

She puts on her slippers
wary of the spread silkworms,
taken aback in volume
feet dressed in germs.

The dub has rubbed her mind
pulsated, she believes it'll suffice
swooped by the monotone
memory dissolved in chalice.

She seems so out of reach
a liberal figure of speech,
her words are hard to miss
aegis of a bad first kiss.

Clothes she didn't believe in
people, she never cared
subject to minuscule greed
my atrophied need.

Nobody quite knows how to say,
posters spell a different speak
what she said I didnt much get
if it isn't her, it must be me.

Inaudible.

With breathless ego in stride
we climb above to hide
hair fastened, intertwines

For when melancholy pervades
even warmth takes effort
quiet she says, don't interrupt.

Whilst in mechanical tick tock
she abandons her silly glance
ignorant eyes, slow and entranced

Thick, half witted discourse
mute barren hands, she wins
and thus, we haven't spoken since..

Insignificance.

This cincture's overture
like rapture when she rues
shouts that scream at me
when she has no excuse.
And in time I'd disremember
those letters she sends
for when we need to talk
its only to make amends.
Now escorted by recent threads
this ardor becomes a rope
and I still keep staring
at those unopened envelopes.

Redolence.

Them baroque thoughts
with infinite disdain in play
and love lies close
a stone's throw away,
And words she did carve
in overwrought sentences
my crestfallen eyes fail
missing faint nuances.
For its the same bouquet
she first wore when
we met and now she says
it never did happen then.

Aubade,

A cosmetic touch as such,
such as much evades us.
Trying to make meet the ends
a bit conspicuous by absence.
The erudite shall collide in mist
days she plays too hard to resist.
The moment denizens take her name,
all encapsulated in freeze frame.

This Very Minute.

We discoursed of authors,
that hardly ever made sense.
and I noticed she shared,
an uncanny resemblance
with the gloom that resonated,
through the raining splinter.
and the melancholy prevailed,
through an aching winter.
Now that I write her down,
after reading those books she told.
and the last time I felt her,
seems a hundred summers old.
Well etched, I trace her face through
these pained distressed eyes.
as notions are all I have left
of you, my inamorata in guise.

Pique.

I remember the splatter when
your feet splashed into the pool
of dirty water on the street
sounding a discordant tune.
I can call back on an afternoon
when your hands clutched beer
and your fingers moved aimlessly
switching songs on the CD player.
I recollect your neck and your
head slowly losing its hair
while you made little secret
of how much you didn't care.
but I can't conjure up images which
evoke minutes of delay
and you clamped to my skin
endearing love like crumbling clay.

Adjectives.

And her name in my handwriting
misspelt to make it sound misleading
for when I find rationale in calm
its hard to get past anyone at all.

And now that its been eagerly stated
coveted sheets with vague ink traces
hopelessly sublime in hourly autumn
its not the tune you've been trying to hum.

And nothing is wrong of what i know
luring me with feet that fast become cold
I tumble over to find myself alone
an annoyed vision and shadows stoned.

And now I lie pale in distress and sweat
with a memory that refuses to dim
despite amnesia thats has the best of me
vividly screaming until my knees.

And when did I say what she said I did
peculiarly absent in a tale with twists
for what was then a once in a while
is now bludgeoning me in spiral screams.

And now those words which have been said
with due diligence and dutiful caress
in sentences formed from haplessness
obscured in cumbersome ginger stress.

And again resting in near comatose
serenaded in visuals of archaic prose
comes another quote from the sack
she knows im too wasted to fight back.

And this self fulfilling prophecy declines
a ream of endless possibilities in time
because no more am I what I came to be
of dreams that languish and die with poetry...