A dystopian fear floating in the howling wintry wind,

Scattering up in the hills, the woods and down the valley

O Ibochouba! the once god’s righteous man

What hath ailed thee to consume such venom in this wee hour of dawn?

What satisfaction dost thou receive upon their cunning wiles?

Is it the false alarm of security you were fondly assured of?

Or just another spread of that invisible plague on thy dying conscience?

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on the footpath ahead

lies the dying body

of a crooked creature

squirming in feverish pain;

without a protest

followed the devil’s footsteps

the devil must have offered

quite a handfull proposition.

the melancholy belt

that spreads across unfathomable

paths,

binding young trouble minds..

yet born are the minds who despite

the dangers seeketh the truth and

hunt in the holy despair of human

tragedy

love compels me — till reap i

heaven’s choir full

in broad daylight — and in the deep silent night

impels me love,

till gone my heart — full bloomed

 

a humour with a disguised face

yet so clear an intention and as free as a toddler

ne’er a heart full of love does the winged creature leave

while in full joy waves the golden mane in autumn breeze

The Parrot And His Master

chanting words of freedom — the parrot

repeating his master’s words

his master, he who puts the bright wings in the cage

just to see the small bird talking like a good pupil

what a bondage — to have such attachment!

what a generosity — to provide him good food and clean water!

die, die a good friend someday without complain

the poor fellow will

but —

only to feed the feelings of the kind-acting monster

he who loves to feel deep

without nurturing a single strain of fairness

Song Of The Moon

those marrooned stares

lost in the bizzare walls of perception

while scratching silently upon a ravaged soul — the dark invisible claws.

frowning — the idle face of Death

waiting for the death to die

humiliation.

pleasant moments amidst the unlived hours

in a hazy spread, quite pass shall the day of reckoning

 

the deathly night,

only seduced by the warm smell of the grove

chain of thoughts on a seasoned beach

had it long ago done by the people of the moon;

closer to the earth — closer to truth,

closer to the moon — closer to all the races of the wilderness

 

kiss the woman

whose tongue — softer than the woollen brain

she who dances naked wild in the graceful presence of the midnight tides

comfort her senses, my man

‘coz has to die once in a while,

the illusion of judgement

Song Of Life

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I hear the sound of the breathing earth

through the wind crying inside the conce shell

I see the earth’s motherly care

through the child’s carefree laughter

and I feel the earth’s loving touch

through the cool breeze that lingers on my sunbeat skin

my undying vision,

my beloved nightingale,

and the verses of my heartfelt gratitude,

like fellow compatriots on a 27th August Hunger Marchers’ Day march

as they continue to walk along with me

on this profoundly thrilling journey

I’m the ever evolving creature in the passage of time

within the same old dream;

for by the spirit we live

and in harmony we believe,

for in fairness we break,

and in humility we rejoice