We can build an orrery
Yet turn the sky into a junkyard
We're abecedarian, quirky contrarian
Stare decisis from cosmic ovarian
Subaltern, suborbital
Small steps on the heavenly stairway
Pedestrian stardust walking around
Tariffing penguins to tear up the ground
But the stairway is spiral
And it's spiraling down
No escape from the gravity
Found all around
Eyes searching the cosmos
For myopic bliss
In a fallacy galaxy
Far from star-kissed
We're worst when we're first
At least in our mind
Quoting chapter and verse
From each tract that we find
On the ground underneath us
That shifts with each step
Tract's gotten infected
Yet onward we schlep
Each bearing the burden
Of truth stumbled across
When we can patch the thatch
On the roof that we've lost
In that storm of ideas
That threatened the shelter
We've built for ourselves
Unstable ideas full on the shelves
We've forgotten to look
For the beauty inside
While we're gathering dust
From under our feet
Instead of uncovering
What's come from above
While planting our hopes
In the promise of love
He pays.
He leaves.
And she bleeds quietly.
Some come for release,
others for control.
Some come to forget.
Some to remember.
Some to be punished.
Some just come because it’s cheap.
It's sin.
It’s not sin.
It’s survival.
It’s escape.
It’s addiction.
It’s barter.
It's bargain.
It's need.
It’s ritual.
Here, bodies are commodities.
Sold by the hour.
Measured by the weight, age and colour of the skin,
freshness of smile,
limpness of resistance.
It is commercialisation of desire
wrapped in lace,
sold in whispers,
shared in commissions,
paid in bribes,
cashed in tips.
She lets strangers
from the corridor of silence
enter in the dark...
Screeching beds,
sweat,
blood and tears - at times
between pain, pleasure and numbness...
He comes. He goes.
But the scent lingers around like emptiness.
The curtain falls, when the last man zips,
And I lay my teacup after that last sip...
SUBALTERN
Love is nothing but dust bin.
Enjoy and throw, want to mean.
I saw that blemished gentleman Mr Narang.
Enjoying a shabby dressed young.
A bird is at hand is worth two in the bush.
A tree is valuable than grass.
Wide of canal is better than river of mouth.
Shabby is so smooth.
Coin is tossed on grass.
Money is so luxurious.
Here coins can trust a shabby.
Blemished remains concealed in heart of lady
Saroj khan[sakha]
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.