Don’t Love Me Too Much.
Don’t love me too much.
It is a smothering pillow, please
I can barely breathe.
You won’t let up
with your passionate touches,
your obsessed adulations on reverent knees,
your addled worship of every step I take
in your adoring presence; I must escape
your never-ending pining
for my next breath upon your nape;
Kindly keep your distance and do not touch,
for you are loving me too much!
Don’t love me too much.
It is a paralyzing chain;
I cannot move here or there.
You will not refrain,
with your intense devotions,
your never-ending fawnings and motions,
with pipe, slippers and loveful extollings.
You refuse to, at last, pause
with your obvious obsequiousness, sitting there,
with manicured fingers swirling through my hair.
Kindly keep your distance and do not touch,
for you are loving me too much.
Categories:
obsequiousness, love hurts,
Form: Free verse
I am a poet
I am a healer
a real pain feeler
I don't inject
or give pills
to take 2, 3 times a day
but I undress the truth
to stich pieces of a torn heart
and un-blind the closed eyes
I'm a word spoken,
a man chosen
with a heart unfrozen
and words unbroken
I am story book
of a thousand contents,
pain and joy intertwined
tears and fears
colliding at the edge of smile years
my word is medical,
healing remedies,
my words
are meals prepared
to feed hungry earth souls
I am a poet
I am a healer
my obsequiousness
to worship crying souls
is a definition
of why my pen bleeds to paper
Categories:
obsequiousness, metaphor,
Form: Free verse
There was a silver tree
Which shimmered under a moonlit night,
And eloped coyly whenever the sun wanted to kiss it.
Spring was every night
When the sky became murky blue,
The labyrinth of the gaudy leaves,
Would intrigue a palette to purge itself through a painter’s eyes,
A blind one indeed,
Since the hue of the dark
Could not be known better.
Once there was blue, green and blood.
And all the passions of a relentless being,
But through the tentacles of time
Obscurity and Obsequiousness burgeoned,
Rain and snow scraped the rainbow
The branches wrinkled like a serpent slumber.
If I had a starry night of my own,
I would sleep under the silver tree,
The stars, peeping through the intricacy,
Imposturous but magnificent,
Would let me see, what nobody else could,
In the quietness, like glittery smiles,
Flowers on my silver tree..
Categories:
obsequiousness, art, imagination, silver,
Form: Free verse
Of many are poets in soup
gagged with the air we breathe
suffocated by the strings of hawks
perked by the long neck of an ostrich.
Drown in the murky water of obsequiousness
tied to the apron strings of what to chomp
turned juggler for survival instinct
danced to the tune of he that plays the piper.
Others' soup plunged them into soup
tongue-lashing the untouched of the land
louding the truth above the speaker of life
paying for the conviction in-built
But the poet is already in the pot
struggling to un-pot himself
fromthe fangs and thorns of the land
how long will he be potted still in the pot?
Categories:
obsequiousness, angst, funny, imagination, nature,
Form: Free verse