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Would I hear the poetry of my soul, even without recognition?: A poem

Would I, if I wrote a poem that was brief and was rugbyfied by too many commas, semi-colons and full-stops, sound as terse to the reader as it may be to me? Or a more derogatory pithy! I can have an entire mailing list of ideas pinned on the office board of my study, without crossing over the page, albeit concise! Would that be enthralling toContinue reading “Would I hear the poetry of my soul, even without recognition?: A poem “

What has been denied…what has been espied!: A poem

Do you know desire can become so imminent a fire that it ceases to be an illusion and snaps all boundaries between imagination and reality! So that what you fantasise becomes a truth of reckoning; even the mirror gives you that feeling! There are the woods that beauty gets you into! An enchanted castle, that seems achievable to access, even ifContinue reading “What has been denied…what has been espied!: A poem “

Sol Invictus; and the time between you and me my darling!: A poem

I have my divinity devolve to you and back again to me, like a game of passing the parcel between us! Must I reckon that a wondrous unpalatable eternity went on and out of the dimensions Like webs that form and must be acceptable Because sustenance became inexorable after the infiltration; and sin became indispensable! We are in an are not. Is it my dreamContinue reading “Sol Invictus; and the time between you and me my darling!: A poem “

The Great Gatsby: A poem

Going morally declinative can decrepit the structure of civilisation’s soul such that nothing embraces dignity in a degenerate edifice that man builds purely for acquisition and not for dignified presence. You can see that too much overambitious zeal can only cause obtuse evil to flourish while intelligent soulful righteousness can be rendered dysfunctional. It is not as if religious pulpits are a vestigeContinue reading “The Great Gatsby: A poem “

Kierkegaard, you liked to please yourself as Hermit, what sort of?: A poem

Kierkegaard, I see yourself enraptured in the mildewed woods of your own unexonerable crutch; like a river that salinates before it reaches the ocean; and I fail to salivate in agreement with your theses! You liked to believe you were a Hermit? What sort of? I’d like to rally that existentialism is an excuse for existence in discordance with purity of self. I amContinue reading “Kierkegaard, you liked to please yourself as Hermit, what sort of?: A poem “

On Fascism, Democracy, and the unrighteous Leftist Church!: A poem

Fascists are decried as fascists, because Democracy is a poverty of imagination, lost like an island in a sea of populistic self-glorifying Leftist (Communistic) dogma, that has now found ample amenability with the Church! This populism, that so pervades, that altogether fails to make your dreams a reality; But has you, with clandestine sinisterism, believe that your vote counts! I don’t thinkContinue reading “On Fascism, Democracy, and the unrighteous Leftist Church!: A poem “

The truth is never appreciated; my kindness was always misjudged: A poem

You know, I have dabbled, at times, in self-praise; It was because, so often, my self-worth had taken a beating at the hands of the vilest treachery! I always felt the need to do what was imminent to the necessity of the day! And, for it, I discovered I was the bravest person in the world; but unacknowledged for it! You knowContinue reading “The truth is never appreciated; my kindness was always misjudged: A poem “

Godspell and Anunnaki-spell: A poem

Unlike what the Gemara is to the Minash, a twinning of the Talmud! The lying New Testament is no holy book of mine! No complement to the Old Testament. But, should I recommend the veracity of the ancient book of Genesis? A book that is enmeshed in half-truths, because of the Jewish exile in Babylon, that borrowed Anunnaki myths! Yes, I wasContinue reading “Godspell and Anunnaki-spell: A poem “

Moon, I have no mirror of myself in you!: A poem

There is a stark stillness in the air, like as if it was portraying a death! But whose death? We have learnt to believe that Friday is a day of mourning. When do Muslims celebrate their Sabbath? Would Freyja feel ostentated by this? I can see the disillustrious crone of a Moon hold her bloody dagger with her hands behind her back! ButContinue reading “Moon, I have no mirror of myself in you!: A poem “

In my scruples, I have not the conundrum of Sylvia Plath’s fig tree: A poem

I have no paint on my face, though I’ve been clowning and acrobatting in a cirque de soleil, where even the Sun has little to cheer about! And the audience is perpetually dismayed, yet keen observers. I am sitting on the crotch of a fig tree that is asking for me to shake it down, so that all the fruit come Continue reading “In my scruples, I have not the conundrum of Sylvia Plath’s fig tree: A poem “