The temple bells are ringing slow,
In the precincts of this monolithic edifice,
Candescent flames of hope burning low,
A silent prayer for deliverance of laboratory mice
My father nudged on the arm of another person,
And asked him about my destiny’s decree,
He replied, if the conditions don’t worsen,
I shall be the ambassador of all who’re free
But as I walk across these corridors of pain,
I smell naphthalene balls and tinctures of iodine,
The battles fought by disinfectants in vain,
These germs have witnessed more than I’ve seen
And I feel as if the best days of my life,
Are now available on DVDs in stores,
Too many possibilities of perpetuation in strife,
Too many nights spent with temporary whores
What’s the lesson then, that’s not been learnt?
What explains these lingering notions odd?
The affidavits of this mystery have all been burnt,
And faithful hypocrites now believe in god.
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Affidavits of Mystery
Must you die, nemesis?
Must you die, my nemesis?
Swallowing this capsule of regret,
Shoved down your blowhole,
By your nemesis, the me?
Must you die here, arch enemy?
In this blue lagoon, with my harpoon,
Slitting your four chambered heart into two,
For more than just an iota of my retributive satisfaction.
Shall I smile the smile of a hunter worth his while?
Or shall I lament the loss of a deserving adversary?
Shall I lick my thus-vindicated wounds?
With this tongue that longs no more for the taste of your blood.
Is the glare of the photographer’s smoldering flash,
Hurting your conjunctiva?
And does it bother you, when I dream,
Of your skeleton suspended from the roof of a museum?
Would you ride the zeppelin of my desires, dearest foe?
Now that yours has succumbed, to my obdurate will, but still,
It’s not as if you didn’t go down with honor,
Anarchist of the highs seas, you were mighty even in death.
Against whom shall I now draw,
Conspicuously meticulous and creative plans of destruction?
Who shall visit my blood-smeared dreams now?
The visions of whom shall now drape my sanity?
You left me without an offspring and intestate,
And my hatred incubator is empty once again,
But farewell, nemesis, may we meet in other dimensions,
Farewell and rest in peace.
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Harp lady
Joanna has such a surprisingly suffocating voice,
What is she not letting go of?
Is It her own mystically magical self?
Or something that I shouldn't know of?
Yes, she plays the harp with some skill,
Is that the agility of her fingers?
Or is it what happens in that infinitesimal moment,
In which her each thought lingers?
And I feel like the flower that blossoms,
When it’s touched by the dewdrops in her tears.
Is it in the fragile way she pierces into my soul?
Or is it just those peaches, plums and pears?
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The Spirit Welder
Thirteen pills of Babylon,
And yet I feel lost and alone,
I wish for raindrops to turn into bombs,
And I wish for these missiles to guide me home
Aurora licks my silver wounds,
With her silent rainbow lies - stoic and hollow,
If this Sisyphean trail’s end were in sight,
What’d I regurgitate and what would I swallow?
I often search for splinters of truth,
In the noir dreams of test-tube babies,
And I find myself casting sparkling reflections,
In the deserted eyes of coyotes with rabies
I fall in love with mannequins of wood,
And propound anachronistic theories of marriage,
And upon the death of my reasons to sing,
I blame my mother for her false miscarriage
So put your gas mask on, O spirit welder,
And disassemble me part-by-part,
I’m a clockwork automaton in this digital age,
No microchips are embedded in my unyielding heart.
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Dystopian Dilemma
-1-
The victory of forces of reason
over forces of kindness,
Brings us to a point, where,
Science spills it’s guts out,
And people relish it’s delicacies.
And Self-righteous morons,
Stand in perfect concordance,
With their electronic gods,
Curse them!
Curse them! For they shall eternally rot,
In the abysmal trenches,
Of their self-constructed oceanic hell.
-2-
Trust not these bible-thumping idiots,
The time is ours, and hope,
Shares the same bed as us,
And you must never allow,
The morally irrational incantations,
Of those who believe in the suppression-
Of the logical forces of reason,
To hold you captive in the prison of false faith,
And the rituals of superstition.
Absolution; is not an undertaking of god,
Nirvana is a cerebral function and only your neurons,
Can perpetuate the feeling of eternal bliss.
-3-
This is all Bullshit!
Do you really believe in this?
The real logic always transcends,
Consciousness and all it’s cousins
And consciousness,
Can never be dictated.
It creates it’s own extremes,
It’s own laws, it’s own religion.
And the moment you subscribe,
To the theories of anything that,
Lies outside your consciousness,
Know, that you are no longer free.
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Apprehensive Giraffe
Long neck, approaching,
The airspace of the people’s republic of china,
Requesting permission to land,
On the cool green grass that grows
Around and under the palm trees in the distance
Hot air causes optical illusions
And hot air balloons
With their Technicolor exteriors
Cause collision in the sky
Mayday! Mayday!
But it’s July the eleventh, not may
Are we going to die?
I hope we are
The apprehensive giraffe watches in silence
As this metallic comet decides to descend
Ablaze and at great speeds
It takes a little time for the dust to settle
And when it does get calmer
I can hear large teeth chewing green grass
and sniffing my hair, perhaps
He wants to welcome me to Mongolia
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Daydreams of a fisherman’s wife
Subliminal reveries of the fisherman’s spouse
In a slithering, slippery, erogenous drowse
Find her floating in a pool of septic pus
And in the embrace of something unctuous
Vacuum cusps kissing her unsheathed softness
She lies in the company of the prisoner of Lochness
Who’s invertebrate and has tentacular appendages
And unwraps her from her emotional bandages
The hind walls are pierced with organic orifices
And someone behind them intermittently pisses
Her lover’s gelatinous arms slide on her slimy skin
And awaken the monster that dwells within
She quivers as it then infiltrates in a spur
Releases spermatophores and impregnates her
And then she, for just a microsecond gestates
Entrapped fluids escape from all her bodily gates
The maiden’s iliac now swells with heavenly pleasure
It’s an ecstatic saturnalia by every measure
Her spirits swim in celebration of liberation from their velour
A kafkaesque explosion and she's the cephalopod's paramour
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Escapism’s Adventure
Escapism finds it’s roots deep down
In shallow pools of materialistic fools
And the effort that it takes to mutate this frown
Cannot be measured in existential joules
Everyone wants an unreal adventure
But the economic boom and the fear of doom
Decapitating braces and evolutionary denture
All keep them tangled in necessity’s loom
On Saturdays my heart fills with pity
As mortals gather around oddly lit portals
And celebrate their blessed mediocrity,
As innocence weeps and libido chortles
Is their no release for us prisoners of life?
If I could resign from this day-job, I would
But being and conscience won’t call off this strife
I don’t want to live. But maybe I should.
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