If I were unable, I am still capable, only reluctant…:A poem 

(Look how Albanese is pretending that he is losing…only to capitalise and bodygrab, the morphing creep!) 

Somebody told me that I look so 

arbutus arabesque in my simple visage. 

And, all of a sudden, I feel all that  

propositioning coming whistling back at me; 

which I don’t intend to follow. Like 

I feel so stable, steady, like an undulating 

AC/ DC current electrifying my soul! 

Like I was confident that the binaries 

of my resoluteness were unfaltering! 

Like I felt the passage of all these unlusting  

barren years draw their blankets over me, 

covering me off the nudity of instinctive 

desire! I even swore to define that the  

madhouse I was advertently put in; 

not puncture my skin beyond its pores, 

not demean my sensibilities or render my 

self-worth into a dimensionless sewer! 

I am just post-timing all this dispassion 

(like I had it all pre-timed for me)! 

A lifetime of suffering redeems you from 

salivating over the undesirable offerings or options, at least! 

Is a lifetime so encapsulated in previous 

lifetimes; that your answers are all expectedly 

unapprehended?! Like predestiny coughs up 

the solutions, as if they were an accidental 

sneeze! You know I turned over sexual  

inclinations with the apparent disinclination 

of too much taste for it or too much distaste! 

Even (earlier in my life), when I wanted it badly 

and chased it, I found myself rejecting it very  

regretfully casually, as if it was part of my second 

nature to be celibate! Lest the secret True Love 

be made more distant than destiny had already  

planned in this lifetime. I have left my predilections 

like my reservations in such disposition/ indisposition!