ENVY IS A SEXY SEDUCTRESS
On days when the devil's workshop opens
On the streets of an idle mind,
Envy visits and knocks.
It lingers on your porch,
As you try to call it stranger
And busy yourself
With thoughts of the good Jesus
Or the days when you shone too.
A vapourized consolation
That clouds over your hope
And rains in intermittent despair.
Envy brushes aside her long hair.
Softly, it knocks and winks.
So you open and it glides in on heels
Flaunting irresistible humps
Like a glossy damsel in a mini skirt.
Caressing the back of your mind,
Whispering in soft tones,
Evil plots of destruction;
For peers that cruise in Porsches.
The ones that brandish their wedding rings
And threw bouquets which you always missed.
Bubbling in fine villas
Surrounded by giggling kids,
In new posts and instagrams.
A flagrant display of all you wish
All which you couldn’t have.
So you get all warmed up
And she’s all over you in a trice.
What could be simpler she thought?
ten seconds to hit the button and
retreat in to the lead lined room...
she hit the button and leapt out of
the leather chair towards the "rescue"
room but her uniform overall caught
and then tangled in the spring-hook
hanger, welded on to the side of the
console
Just before the room temperature
reached seven thousand degrees Celsius,
and vapourized her and the building
she mused, "**** happens".
The hours of laughter
and incredible blessing of sight,
the zone of comfort
Land marked by our acquaintance
are vapourized by distance’s wicked physics,
the appearance of such bliss
we hope, to come very very soon.
When we were together,
each day consisted of less than twenty four hours
but now far apart
and my daily timely cycles
are notably long and doubled.
When would the irritation
of such a long suffering end?
I so hope it’ll be very very soon.
The flaunting of our colours,
our printing of romance’s currency
the manufactured envy from peers
and the large visible erotic shoulder pad,
extract juices of sadness from memory’s sulcus,
compressing the mind with machinery of longing
just because we are far apart.
Oh darling, I am sure we will meet again
to continue the everlasting episodes of our passionate ride.
This will not come later, but will be very very soon.
How hot was it! We’ll not forget that day,
when high in the clouds, flew the plane
“Enola Gay”
Children made to shadows, melted into brick,
and now in urban cities, still they turn up sick
How hot you are my mother! Your skin so
brittle-black, your caring hand now carbon,
they put you in a sack
Where are you darling children, my wife of
jet black hair?
Vapourized one morning in Nagasaki’s air
And when I hear the drone, of a motor overhead,
I think a million suns, of atomic awesome dread
How hot was it that day!
Written for contest 25/7/15
For, ages past, I finally peeled out my illusory shell,
Roaming about naked on the surface, where my mind was covered with cloth made of rust,
Thus, regurgitate all my words swallowed, spit it back at me, for, it's rusty dust,
Use your shovel to dig off my steps, as my theories have finally fell.
The night stars abound, reminds me of glittery gold, strive to vain
A hearten statue sitting all day long on the city centre, lift the mess caused to rare fame,
O! Material like moss, I gathered the same,
Homage to no image, but their seeds I struggled to feign.
Coldly, boldly, I sent acquaintance running farther from my adventure,
For, my new tongue blabbers of no race's language,
Will I adapt to this life?, as I console my tears of unknown future,
Will the past vapourized? Never to surface in my newly age.
This I ponder, as I wander like Crusoe in an empty field,
Sorry to my past, because it what life yield.
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