AVS.. 9-12-09

this is a story of a 6 footer on move,
spiky haired and a stylish groove,
he laughs on skimpy chubby dudes,
sly smiles and and flirting now on truce,
Pink Floyd's lyrics seems the way to live,
Black is the song, black his colour,
cries like a baby,during a laughing stutter,
Football and ayn rand, just for a girl,
avoids the smoke but drinks to hurl,
call it a whiskey or a tequilla in a swig,
can party till dawn, life hanging on a twig,
trance is the night, trance is the day,
romantic in soul, street smart on tray,
technology can take him for a bumpy ride,
all the philosophy is his juggling pride,
popular and infamous at the same time,
trying his words with hers to rhyme,
A for the audi and V for the shots of vodka,
life aint a long story,so as colored as polka,
classes he shall not attend, nor the gym,
lean and lanky, beer belly just near the brink!
surprises and beaches and an anonymous group,
castaway, wild plans to elope with a rocking troop,
and he shall preach in a voice like a barrister,
shy to sing, pranks being the stress buster,
in the end what is left to say,
sleeping teddy, a modern retro Che!

" A MYRMIDON " (4-12-2009)

[...MYRMIDONS are warriors, participated in Trojan war, they will execute any order without any questions, followers of Achilles..]

what's the color of his ebbing blood,
the eyes of a Martinet, peril by flood,
the soil in Troy, a benediction from mother,
A myrmidon's war cry, devoid of black dither.

The mind so agog, death is the prize,
no contemplation, no fear will thrive,
Turtle's carapace and a shielding ivory sword,
the mistress left behind, expecting no reward.

abeyance from the land, for the people,
misery soils the linen, as the toll triples,
days and nights, slips into a quagmire,
drinking spirits, walking on the holy fire!

and the victor will return, burnt and killed,
arrow in the chest, caressed by sea winds,
in the times like these, what's germane?
orator's word or a martyr's sandy trail !

to "constant nagging" 3-12-09 [read encouragement]

Somewhere down a squalid lane,
Hazy foggy distant lonely plain,
Searching for a clue but no sign,
May be a bell or a little girl child!

Fate and endurance, two sides of a coin,
when looks succeeds, and practice dies,
where eagle stammers and crow rise,
the land where u can't touch the air,
where little girls have unanswered prayers!

In the end the gold is what matters,
Hope is one dirty unkempt infamous liar,
Where fair play is ruled out, a secret unkept,
Games get ugly, and toil is unrewarded ,
the Queen is arrogant and plays her pawns,
u hope to run, but there is no better land,
you stay, and wait till you join the circle,
copying the moves, imitating the noise,
holding a head held high, proud intellectual poise,
and thus you begin a new life,
shaky foundation on a careening tide,
and the shoulders will droop and thoughts will dry,
inspiration falters and seduction rules,
Pity is the state and Rumor is the house!
big is the plunder shame is your night,
living the days, empty and naive!
and there is one who says to retire,
its too late to change, as the game aint tired,
you prolong the end, and pay the cheques,
glamorous life and the green satin dress!
who keeps the score and who is the refree?
Still searching for a clue but no sign,
May be a rusted bell or a little girl child!
Standing somewhere down a squalid lane,
In a hazy foggy distant unseen plain!

"when bored in LIDO lab" [devil smiles] 15-07-09

High heels, red lipers and a black attire,
Low on make-up, still mouthing fire,
Walking down the ramp or a crowded lane,
Those staring guys and perplexed plain Janes!
Racing and a fast life, still no haste,
All the attitude gathered is no waste,
Talk and will stay up till dawn,
Pacing cars and manoeuvring pawns,
Living every minute and who is sedated?
Paying all the bills, jeans are faded,
Crying under a pillow and swollen eyes,
Something done, now a stinking forlorn pie,
"Learnt" when no one was around,
Taught by no teachers, but scavenging hounds,
And still smiling and not an outlaw,
Nails red as blood, Eyes done with no flaw,
And when you look up, watch the glow,
Who gives a damn! Its a friend or a foe!

The Hermit

The aching heart beholds the end of an era,
Like the wine competing with a pint of vodka,
Where will the courtier find the sword of Damoclez?
Is it hidden where legends forego the winner's pledge?
A ten thousand bill is worth some humble pennies,
Like the king Midas, an Emperor or the mendicant?
Why cognac is not worth a diamond chalice,
And hidden the tale of the prince and the tresses,
The doubts snigger and haunts a dreamless soul,
Is an act of living or the contempt being foretold,
When a feather avoids the laconic prose,
And winged horses sweats, drawing a poetic course,
Are the victuals really dropped from heaven,
Or the turkey is sacrificing at the lucifer's carnival,
What pure and what is being disturbed?
Are the laws of power written in the Testament?
Can you touch and tell that is it real?
Or what you feel is the one not a dream,
Are you the navigator or just some actor,
Is this an unseen voyage or a scene in a theatre,
Are the feats and not the tears that count?
Negate the logic, dare to explore the Hermit's mind.