The Rock that Crumbled

 It was a rock that I leaned on

When I was feeling ever so low

It gave me force to stand and move on

As I propped my hand on it to rise from below.

At times the tides hid my rock

And submerged it with much salted sea

And with that it was slowly blocked

Against all odds, against my plea.

But there were times it lay there bare

For me to run to and huddle in its embrace

As I wept of life it gave me care

Even if it was stone-like, in my heart it had a place.

But as I look at my rock today,

I see nothing where it used to sit

And wondered whatever took it away

Or what may have at it hit.

I walk closer to the spot of my rock

And find shingle and a lot of sand

And realize that it crumbled to that lot

As it seeps through my fingers and my hand.

My rock, my savior has withered away

Not realizing it kept me standing alone

To face the world, so I silently pray

For my rock to come back to me

… and become my own!

Dump that Vision

My vision of love is so disturbed

Some times I feel a little perturbed.

I see us as two but one soul

Then realize it is not the case at all.

My vision of life needs much refinishing

For it is constantly diminishing

I need to get myself away

Reload, upload however I may.

Priorities need to be readjusted

My image much prepped and a great deal dusted.

To come victorious on the top

I need to discard the bucket and the mop.

Enough of this domesticated nature

For it brings nothing but a lot of labor

That is futile and so needless,

I need to throw away that constant ‘Yes’!

So here I come please get prepared,

For you will like not my new improved flair and air.

And when you find that you want the old ways

Please do understand it won’t be possible in future days!

The Emasculation

To all of you let me present

The story of my existence that has come to this end.

Let me start by describing this man

Who broke my heart and in a wall rammed.

He rammed and jammed my heart and my soul

And my lively spirit he unduly stole.

And as he fired in my heart a quick dart

I fell down and wondered what I’m doing with a fart!

This man, this dog, this pig who has hurt

My being, my body he for sure did girt

And made me imprisoned when life was so full

To his petty life and to his endless, relentless bull.

So as I lay helpless on the floor of his bully

A bulb went on in my brain and I fully

Understood what was to come next

And how much this asshole will be much much perplexed!

So in an act of whimper and of pain

He left me to moan as he slicked his hair in vain.

Then a bottle of whiskey he gulped down

And slumped on the coach and in a dream drowned.

So I get up slowly as I gather my pride

Along with some courage and with much stride

I head to the kitchen and the drawers ransack

I look for scissors and find them hidden at the back.

With my new weapon, I head back all armed

And find the asshole on the coach sprawled.

I open his fly and get out his balls

And in a swift move I snip them like two pals!

The asshole moves not for he is knocked out

So I wipe the blood and his crotch dab out.

Then bandage the cuts and close his fly,

I take the two balls to the kitchen for a quick fry!

As the balls sizzle and fizzle on the stovetop

I hear the asshole from his coach plop.

I walk to the room with the balls on a plate

Some bread, some herbs with it and some hate.

He looks at me with surprise and a smile.

For he thinks that he has taught me to comply.

I set the plate in front him with the bread

He looks down as he tries to grasp what‘s on the plate spread.

He takes a bite off his balls with some herbs

And as he swallows his being is perturbed.

The pain it seems has registered in his mind

And he starts to eye the balls and his crotch that is in a bind.

He tries to get up all swollen with much anger,

For I have his manhood robbed with much ardor.

But he flops back unable to move

As I tower above, I nod and approve.

For he has become a disabled and a cripple

And his manhood he blindly did at nibble!

My Canvas… my Life

It was a canvas… a white

                Stark…tabula rasa canvas…

Staring at him… gawking , gaping… in malice.

His brush erect in his hand… declining to bend

                Work, trace the story of his life.

For bending… stooping… crouching was the act of

                                                                                Slavery.

It was a white canvas…so horrid in its lividness…

In its sickly paleness… that reminded him of his state.

The brain disconnected…                             from the hands…

                Refusing… rejecting… resisting to sketch… to depict…

The record of his being.

This white canvas… the color of deteriorating bones….

                                In a ditch… in the valley…looked up at him…

Tormenting him…foreshadowing to him…

…the upcoming future of his life…

In stubbornness and absolute spitefulness…

                                It was determined to stay colorless… pallid…sickly…

                                                                                                …ashen like dead!

That Brown-Psychotic Bean

I wake up early in the morning

To start another tedious day.
It is dark and it is daunting
To start a day with a stagger and a sway.

So, as usual, I head to my coffee shop

For my daily dose of caffeine
To wake me up and my day prop
I needed that brown, addictive bean!

I enter my café…like my French?

And find a long…..long, lengthy line.
So I stand in hopes to luckily quench
That dry, needy feeling of mine in time.

But you know how life goes, don’t you?

When “Miss-I-am-privileged” cuts you in line.
With her long streaks of blonde, fake hair
Stream down her back and her behind!
So, being the person in need of anger management
My face goes red, my heart goes tick-tock,
I tap her on her shoulder against good judgment
And wait for her to turn and face me with shock!

But she ignores, thinking she can, yes she can

Hence rage inside me froths and lathers
With bulging eyes the café I scan
Accompanied with my infamous blather.
As I curse and shout at this rude creation
She turns around and stares me up and down,
Then turns and whispers “What a lowly crustacean!”
And my face contorts in a scary frown!

And then it starts….

I grab her from her fake blonde extensions

And hurl her to the other side of the room
And ignore all duly conventions
Of civilized talk as I seethe and fume!
“You and your over-inflated self
Enfolded with an unearned sense of privilege
Earns you a first class ticket to the back of the queue
As you try to readjust your self-image!”
“And while you’re at it, my humdrum queen,
Let me give you a piece of advice
Treating the world as if it works for you is unseen
And doesn't suggest you're a prize
It simply means that you're an ass
And to society a growing mass!”




With this I square my stiff shoulders
As I take my place in an orderly line.
The princess, the queen, unduly molders
In a corner she sits to cry and whine.
But all ignore as we all stand there
Waiting for that addictive drink
That made me glare
And swear
And blare
And scare
That bitch, that female dog
Who dared
To cut the line
Of a lunatic, madcap who’s ravenous for that
Chocolate Brown
Tormenting
Nerve-racking
Bitch-like
Bean!

Lively… Fucked up Tube

My need for you is like my need for food

The need to stuff my face with much junk

A need, so urgent, a need so crude

To fill up my empty and useless trunk!

I watch you senselessly hour after hour

Oblivious to time and the setting sun

I flip from channel to channel with much power

Trying to catch what program has begun.

News clips flash by my eyes so fast

Dictating my new system of beliefs

And a new ideology sprung at me that is cast

In a mould designed at the desk of the chief.
Flashes of pictures come and go
Of skinny women with no meat
With eyes that have lost their glow
And made up faces to look complete.

But tell me hither what is complete 
About a human that's lost its zest
And is nothing but a picture of deceit
And turned into a manikin that's much distressed!

Pictures, programs and video clips

That wreak nothing but of bad taste

My being and mind it mightily grips

And filled with toxic, noxious waste!

My limbs drag down over the arms of the couch

My skin stretches out over oily, dense blubber

My potbelly protrudes like an ugly pouch

Growing with the unending, hypnotic slumber.

This couch, this settee this deceptive chaise lounge

Has turned me into an ugly duckling

And nothing would move me from it but to scrounge

For food, for drinks with countless stumbling.

Yet it happens that a day comes by

To realize that the deceptive man in the tube

Is nothing but a guy with an evil eye

That hounds me and makes of me a dupe.

So out goes the couch to the backyard

To burn and smoke the evil out

And crash the tube after being charred

To knock folly out and bring sense about!

Contemporary Ode to Shadow

Look at thee while stretched on the floor

Like an eternal mirage that follows me around.

You show me loyalty though I usually ignore

And barely notice that you are aground.

You are my shadow and my eternal protector

Though I do not converse much with thee

For at nights you look more like a specter

And scare the hell out of my feeble, weak me!

For I have reasons to show distrust

Since you stretch and contract as the day retreats

And  I have to constantly readjust

My perception of you as you grow and deplete.

So please my bipolar, Janus-faced shadow

Do fathom why at your emergence I don’t wallow!

Corporate Whore

With one foot grounded in the East

And another placed firmly in the west
She gives admission to all in need
To young and old, ones you’d detest.

Men and women I present indeed

A woman of an eternal quest
Of good men and those with a bad deed
For she cares not since she’s obsessed!

Obsessed, possessed she is for sure
By some evil driving force
She tries tirelessly to her trap lure
The single, the married without remorse.

She’ll bat her lashes and flip her hair
And float around like a true angel
She’ll utter words of a playful flair
Oh, be aware how she’s disdainful!

For she is nothing but a growing mass
So cancerous, so poisonous to the limbs of life
And she’ll try to drag you from your lass
Your home, your children and your wife.

Ladies and gentlemen let me present
The slutty jezebel, the canny whore
The one who’ll endlessly lament
Her sad trivial life in hopes to score!

This the corporate whore of the century
Who’ll try to find herself a man
And drive him to undue treachery
And devour every bond of his she can!

Yearnings of a Schizophrenic Heart

“Sad music in my heart playing upon my veins

Its melancholic tune

Sad Music rushing in my vessels as I slump on the side of the road.

I cannot finish a road that seems to stretch

till eternity.

A sad, sad echo calls from beyond the mountains

‘Musika, la belle musika of life.’

The sound is deafening and defeating….

I cry and thrash in my role and I collapse….

into a cold embrace.

The embrace of Hades, if you want to know

A morbid luxury man can afford.

Come to me sweet end, the rain is blowing in my face

Rush, rush death, the whole world is on my case.

The wooden stage is broken

And I a damaged puppet

None in this vast plastic empire to dry my tears,

No one but pitiless, indifferent wind…

Turn blue….then purple and crawl under the shadow of a tree

It allotted me to this hour and failed to come.

I set my feet on the road of disappointment

It broke its pledge just like adam.

I no longer want to accompany you to your kingdom,

so darkly doomed and strongly lit by fires… an illusion.

You are uninvited and not allowed to capture m…….e.”

And she dies.

To My Persecutor, With Love

You look at me from your haughty stool

Uttering confusion, acting like a ghoul.

A ghoul so piddling…


A ghoul so piffling… so niggling…

It hopes to become the one and only mule.  

Pastoral Odium

I live in a land that is so vast
That spreads and spreads and in green clad.
Where shepherds rule and cattle drool
And nature is your only school.

I live in a land that is so primal

Where horses are rode with no bridle
And neighbors are your only choice
Like it or not please do rejoice!

I live in a land that is so limited

To men that are by their wives inhibited!
Where food consists of soup and a bun
And mum’s kitchen is the one and only one!

I live in a land… oh but am I alive?
In a place that relinquished my sex drive?
And put me to slumber in my youth
While trying to fathom life’s real truth.

I live in a land but do not exist
For all my mind is ‘bout how to exit
This dreary place that’s but a void
Of nothingness…of idleness I am trying to avoid!

I live in a land but I need to leave

Instead of trying the morons to please
And step into the horizon straight ahead
That shines in my eyes and makes me but dead!

So off goes the rustic metal suspenders

That have in time my flesh much tendered
And swish of the hat that blocked the sun
The light, the breeze and much of life’s fun.

I throw on the clothes of the rebellious

And my hair I spike and make contentious
While the lady next door circled her eyes
At my true being and my so-called-demise.

But I ignore and turn my back

To a land that’s made me much much lack
The true essence of life and leisure
And to her squeals I raise my finger…

... with much much pleasure!

The Puppet Master

There once was a little boy

Who out of boredom designed a toy

A carton shoe-box he turned to a stage

That soon was to become a mortal vivid cage.

The shoe-box he colored and made so pretty

But it was too small- oh what a pity!

He then attached a curtain to the front

And hung ‘My Stage’ a title with a flashy font!

The box looked empty in the dark

So decided he to make a tree with a bark

And for some entertainment an Adam and an Eve

He made out of cloth, some wood and some leaves.

Their limbs he affixed to thin unseen thread

To move around as he wished and freely led.

One day he’d make them laugh and play

And sad and morbid on the second day.

In spring the shoe box sported comedy

In winter it harbored much of tragedy.

Between the two the boy did leisure

For his control was such a treasure.

Time passed by and the boy found his game

A bit too childish, a bit too plain.

So in the final act the puppets he killed

And lay on the floor their ink he spilled.

He was the puppet master with all the power

To move the puppets and above them cower.

And when he decided the play to end

The curtains he pulled down and his puppets…

… To death send!

Jester of the Court

The queen of hearts sat on her throne

Counting the minutes of a tedious day

She huffed and puffed and she did groan

Of all the humdrum that passed her way.

“Call the jester, for I am bored!”

She waved her fan in much frustration.

“I can some mirth and laughter afford

Some clumsy steps and some celebration.”

The handmaiden scurried down the hall

To call for the jester to the marble court.

She found him on the green lawn sprawled

She nudged him up as she at him snort.

The jester hopped his way to the gate

Of the hall that housed the queen

He tried her scowl to quickly escape

For she was looking ever so mean.

“M’lady” he said as he jingled his hat

With the ears and the tail that flopped away

“At your service” he said, jiggling his belly fat

And tinkle he did the bells whichever way.

He strutted his act like a queen of drag

With his hands waving at the herd

His legs he lifted like a slender stag

And from his mouth spilled a blurred word.

The queen of hearts turned ever all red

For she knew it was she he mimicked

The clown has uttered all taboos unsaid

And did surely know what he’s inflicted!

The red lobster woman stood up in rage

And pointed a finger at the licensed fool

“Is this how you try to engage”

“With some insults you boorish ghoul?”

The jester, the jokester the idiot clown

Scurried down the court with his tail

Between his legs, back slumping down

Knowing nothing from this quandary bail!

Shortly the guards of the palace appear

Looking all strong with outfits of metal

They looked cruel with their jutting spears

He knew he would fall into heckle!

They dragged him roughly from the shoulders

Back to the court to face his lady

He stood between two callous soldiers

Trying to face her ever so bravely.

“You idiot,” she bellowed in his face

Smothered all red and a heaving bosom

She then hurled at him a china vase

After tossing the colorful blossom.

The vase hit him in the head

And blood trickled down his cheek

On bent knees he quietly pled

For some mercy from his queen the freak!

Oh, but she was a witch and an old crone

Whose pride has been publicly scarred

And she did!  The jester was from the court thrown

In a cold enclose and from the court barred.

What can one say of the injustice of royalty

Of what they entail on their nation?

When one is showing to his trade loyalty

Is inexplicably thrown to damnation!

The Case of Love, No. 999

A people asked me one day, "What love are you talking about?"
I said, "It is that love, with a tread stronger than the strongest of storms,
And its grip more forceful than the grips of graves,
It knocks and flops on a fragile, perished heart.

The heart says, "Have mercy on me, O my soul is weak like tender flowers.
Oh, and I myself a victim of a feeble heart."

Broken tears fall and pierce with sharp edges the stillness...
of silence...
To scatter morose thoughts that fade in a hateful space.
Two tears drop on a gentle, velvety cheek,
To root pain and grow a wheat sheaf of a sad appearance
Like a flag standing blatantly that says,
"This is my kingdom and its slogan my melancholy...
Sprawl down kneeling if you are a victim of malevolent love!"

Rebellion of a Woman

You, the man wavering in the horizon,

Do you see me through the darkened fog?

Do you see the woman who loved you from the wounds of her heart?

The rag you threw after being worn out by deceitful time?

You shout that I am a roguish woman…

How harsh that accusation was,

That sprouted from the brutality of your heart.

You, the man who says I am a criticism to an aristocratic society…

That society is a creation of your fantasy

The works of an arrogant, ignoble man,

And I created you in the verses of my poetry…

And I shall destroy you in the grasp of my hand,

To make of you ashes flying in the air

And turn you into a void with the bellowing wind.

I’ll make of you a toy, to play with as I wish…

And then throw you into a cheap, wooden box

After the boredom of a child…

So that oblivious time forgets you…

And turn you into nonexistence itself.

You have been caught in the bitterness of an injured woman…

You have fallen into a fate…nothing will free you from but…

The deepest of graves.

After the storm of emotions a timid sun shines

And I see my lover in the guise of an angel…

The heart of a goddess in love tenders

As she runs, afraid from the looming shadow of hatred…

To fall in the embrace of her love.

She prays for an eclipse, so the sun disappears…

So as her days will not be counted…

So time can stop and her love stays flourishing amid the shades of spring.

A wish… that the stars fall from the sky

And lay on the roses of women, like diamonds in the darkness of the night

As time freezes with the eclipse in the sky.

The Two-timing Lover

Life, full of evilness and falsity

A desert-like creation of man’s fantasy,

A prison of charlatan sham

That grounds sincerity into ash.

Yet there was this little spot in my heart,

I knew was true and good.

It spread like an evergreen lawn

And enveloped me with true lover-hood.

But suddenly a drought hit this spot

In my heart it turns into decaying rot.

All that was left is a vast desert,

And it my heart into two parts severed.

This spot was you my beloved

Whom I cared for trusted and believed.

Yet you broke my heart and from its happiness eased

Away with your infidelity.

Your image turned into delusion,

While reality struck me hard,

And into pieces shattered my heart

While your reflection perished into confusion.

Brutality of a Femme Fatale

This blood… with its aromatic scent…

The scent of the beastly trapped body…

Let me smell it… let me fill my lungs with this…

This scented fragrance… that roams the earth from end to end…

… uniting mankind.

Drops of your blood on my face in the early hours of the morning…

Let your blood give the moment its true meaning…

in this black, dark hour of idleness.

This blood… this dark, dark redness…

Let me dab it on my full pouting lips…

The blood of my lover…

Let me draw it on my forehead in the shape of a flower…

I wonder…will your blood taste like red, warm wine against my tongue?

Exploding joy with this smiling wound… your wound…

My lovers wound.

A poisoned bleeding from the body of my lover

Spilled to waist in a deadly duel down in the forest…

Beneath the green…

Your blood spilled for me…how cruel could my heart get?

Let it spill over the earth… history… observe…

Two drops of your blood neighbor over this solid earth…

Let your blood live forever… let it live by my side…

To nurse me through the strife of life…

Enough of this torture… your torture…

For my soul is satisfied.

Runaway

The silent moon rose from behind the curtains

Shadowing the whole universe.

My little friend viewed me in disdain,

For she knew the end of the earth was approaching.

Full of sadness I sighed, for the end was to come…

Like a helpless child on a pavement I have become.

It attacked me in my dreams,

And in my wake it crawled…

Knowing my fate was the hardest part of all.

I roamed the streets in vain,

Down dark alleys I wavered…

Up vacant hills I stumbled.

Not one drop of hope to fill my empty heart

So dry it has become like the cracking Sahara.

Hope was like a mirage that kept on playing tricks

Like a lonely girl wearied of life’s course.

I know that searching is worthless

But I know that the sun will rise one day

Like a shy bride, reluctant to be cherished.

I know I will be called a survivor.

Though until that time comes

I will stay on roaming streets

And…

A runaway I will be.