Thursday, 14 March 2013

Hungry Insolence...!

Holding on, my fellows, to the last missive from you,
The messenger, they bought him, his past, with their future
Of the cracks in a barren land, letting the patches breathe
I am the carcass, nourishing, the cracks, the patches
in this death, I outlived the life as comfortably as my dungeon,
which has oft outlived such myriad departures, unremittingly!

Don't denigrate the noose which embraced my Jugular vein,
She is a beloved, for being a tether, the only link to freedom,
Whose child is the difference, distinguishing me from you,
Don't mislead and call yourself saviors, Don't.
Wicked is the mistaken air of grandeur,
flaunted by a haughty destitute, and too of the,
pretentious insolence of the mistaken minds, like you,
who vainly try to draw rectangles, by a broken compass.

Don't misguide life, it is enough a lesson, a known error,
You are a cunning guise, unworthy of my austere temptation.

Didn't you all stopped being, the moment you betrothed
the existential convenience, watching with a comfortable grief, 
The Postcard pictures of slain fathers and the mutilated brothers
the mother whose womb became the grave of her unborn child,
the wife who demarcated her presence with her husbands absence,
the orphan who is consumed by the throwaway meals he eats
while you, as devotedly as printing presses, endlessly analysed,
their pain, shame, loss and painful shame of loss of being. 

Your tummies full with feigning words and with pitiless grub,
Your bodies lying in the warmth of your bedding, with a snub,
dissected the chill in their souls, the anguish in their hearts.

Didn't the determined will, of the hollowed lad,
cover the naked shame of your hideous phoniness
While your editorials featured his denuded dead body.
Why would you stop praising the lad for being a cause,
to bring forth such poetic semantics!?
Granted you are not hungry in stomach,
but let someone's blood quench the thirst,
of your careerist ends  and guided ego-trips.
What good is blood & flesh otherwise?!
Only spiced-up to be a morsel for vanity?!

Don't you mourn that which Is worthy to celebrate,  leave me be!
for,  you let them split your lives into alluring events, 
for you to celebrate your own bereavements.

Don't succumb to memories, when you can forget and fete
Don't call my deliverance a narrative, it is a slippery occurrence,
One you can never hold onto with the gloating weight of your guise,
Never bother yourself with the actuality of where and who it strikes
As when & whom it does, the upshot is kind enough to see you flourish,
You rightly have sidelined the shame, as cravings are shameless.