Month: July 2017

Meat Lover

In that absence of introspection At the merciless canines, I stand, no predator in solemnity  Just another soul, that looks at The buffer crashing into a chicken, darting across The street, and smiles nonchalantly. And in that voracious appetite To the white and the red, which just like The wines, makes you inebriated When you

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A Prisoner’s Bliss

The poetry of silence swimming From all corners and rocking A bassinet, that like a mother’s palm Gently sways me right to left Up and down, until I’m a weary Sight-blunted warrior, in my beauty sleep. Knowing that, in this life-long incarceration, My green mile at Alcatraz, That’s the best part of the day or

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Dreams

  To be, To exist or live, To prolong or carpe diem… ##### Caught in these trappings Gurus define; I go topsy and turvy Through the navel of an hourglass As I waste away, knowing life Is just a meaningless inertia, Of what we collect to furnish meaning, Love, riches, photographs and memories. ###### And

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On the Third Date

Don’t kiss me as yet honey, At least not right now. I’m not ready for your body To comb my thickets or tip my sensors, Nor do I wish to learn the language Of love, this early into knowing you. We are still buds, little closed rings of petals That still don’t know, The art

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Elegy on Fame

A nebula develops From a little opening on a stage And slowly turns to a star  To throngs, just like a celestial body That blazes light, for those afar To witness, the burn of gases And with time, the star power grows Until you’re battling your wrinkles And the sagging protein in your flesh, And

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Banana Republic

It was the American author O. Henry Who coined the term “Banana Republic” To explain the exploitation by dictatorships Of bananas plantations In Latin-American countries. And out here in the 21st century, Just as centuries before, it is just monkey business as usual. Love is just a pact with little kickbacks And what else is

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Interfaces

Look how beautiful It is, when palm supports palm, And fingers caress fingers.  How straight are those palms in togetherness. And those assemblies of palms, like lovers, Slip and glide on each other At the dead heat of the night Opposite a lighted candle thread, In interfaces which form and denature Every passing day, almost

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