moaning monkeys clustered
punctured passion littered
on taunted trail
callous commotions create
mumbling dusk tearing
wielding weary hisses
few gulped stance
puking mystic trance
leering felon prance
salient pairs' hood
squatting pleasure stool
saucy cards puke
porous politicians' art:
sundry characters craft.
20:01:16:05:33
Note: Picture prompt.
This is quite allegorical. To us, we have leaders to see to our affairs, but to the leaders, they've gain access to play cards with our plights like the monkeys. Monkeys here represent disguising politicians.
The Last Spike
Helios orb peers cautiously
with guarded optimism
through cracker-slatted clouds
as Thor's divine implement
shatters the morning stillness with the clap of a sonic boom
Mere mortals assigned Herculean tasks
trill a gospel cadence,
their labors heralded as glistening ribbons stretch yon and hither,
a tribute to their genius
and their genesis
Now, as the celestial cotillion materializes
in the ebony overhang
the spinning Mother bids 'Adieu'
as the last rough-hewn iron phallus
penetrates the porus creosote-drenched flesh
with a tempered satisfaction
known only to Gods.........
And those men who will be.
("Hell On Wheels" final episode)
The whole truth was porus,
a hard punch on my face. We stood
on the edge of lies. Body
twisted at several places, mutually
hating, yet telling sweet nothings,
bored umpteen times like eroded hisses.
The shrieks belie the red wall of flames,
reddened lids. Cannot enhance the
blackness of night for stars to shine.
They butchered a symphony. A nude
cries. The tongue slips. Bonanza for bats.
And I resume the hunt in starlit jungle of birds.
Blue lips surround a pink hole.
Teeth were not visible, but bite was sharp.
How do you love a distanced friend?
The beauty of Raflesia?
SATISH VERMA
The whole truth was porus,
a hard punch on my face. We stood
on the edge of lies. Body
twisted at several places, mutually
hating, yet telling sweet nothings,
bored umpteen times like eroded hisses.
The shrieks belie the red wall of flames,
reddened lids. Cannot enhance the
blackness of night for stars to shine.
They butchered a symphony. A nude
cries. The tongue slips. Bonanza for bats.
And I resume the hunt in starlit jungle of birds.
Blue lips surround a pink hole.
Teeth were not visible, but bite was sharp.
How do you love a distanced friend?
The beauty of Raflesia?
SATISH VERMA
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