a beautiful nymph descending from the heavenly skies
dispel the sadness that grinds the root of days
cheer me with your voice
and let your ankles squeeze the wine of the days to come
be for me the temple of the dancer
that writes in the dust the mystery of the days to come
and let your body be the wonderful minaret
that supports the call
be my throat that struggles to whisper
and prayers and whispers and curses
be the luminous foundation
that supports this vitiated life
important papers
on my desk ready to sign....
spill vitiated
I sit, this morn, on the bed of
A dried-up rivulet,
Head-bent and full of compunction.
It’s clam-quiet except for the impatient
Squawks above which prompt my heartbeat.
I raise my head, heavy with grief.
Climbers and weevils align in a silent choir,
Singing with precision the lines of a forgotten
Mirth.
It’s 5 o’clock in the morning — a time when
Cockcrows are loud enough to wake the dead.
I cringe and slink as I traipse about in the dead woods,
Among the cadavers of river plants, decimated,
Deserted, and vitiated through seasons’ flagrant ebb.
I see shadows that sing with their mouths tightly shut.
Like them all, I, too, am lonesome, and I draw about me
The dry waves of parched waters.
On my lips is a certain prayer — a revised edition of the
Paternoster.
Return, waters, return from the underrocks, I pray thee.
My sorrows are old and fragile.
Hoots and cries and stridulations beseech me.
I have picked my way among paths that
Cuddle the feet in sympathy and soothe
The souls that hide from the earnestness of
Sunrise.
Wash my dry naked feet, O waters,
And grease my palms so cracked from
Endless chafing.
I'm not an 'ingénue' anymore - that’s been vitiated.
I'm not innocent, pure, naive or vulnerable -
which are technically, 'ingénue' requirements
(I don’t make the rules).
That being said, if no one has an objection,
in terms of narrative trajectory, I'd like to be
considered a 'fémme fatale' until further notice.
.
.
Songs for this:
HEATED by Beyoncé
Hysterical Us by Magdalena Bay
My CAPTION of the poem is Childhood as I see
An opening or APERTURE of education in ones's life is school,
for in school we just not only learn but it is also a fact that we also ATTEST the discipline,
making me fit enough to look after my studies .
Not to say if these things are not there life becomes BARREN and such a thing will encompass inactivity.
Childhood thus is vitiated by wrong facts.
Building childlike manners and be creative enough,
to be responsive build simply the TEMERITY and its SAGA makes me a daring fellow.
My PROCLIVITY towards education rears me and makes me daring,
to cope up with the circumstances for the right things to take place
and be done.
Building in a manner for right endeavours and opinion
and its NUANCE make me grow and ecompass in my heart
right duties.
The MARROW of the childhood is growing in proper terms , proper guidance and make the childhood lively
Thus go on and on is childhood
Envision, Envision, Envision is childhood
Made by God I am a child to grow and know the world
Momma always compares me to the trees
She says... I'm tall, thin, and free spirited in the wind
But now I lay before you as a TREMBLING TREE!
Attacked by the axe of ambulance, due to my
decomposing disease. Ligaments languish as fragmented
foilage and organs become tainted tangerines!
As my conscious collides with the wind... Ivy of my illness
binds my tethered trunk, spiders of suicide descend down branches!
Crawling beyond broken bark... cracking my vitiated vision!
As the sun sank into our garden of healthy hilarity.
My withered wood fades into a cloud come with no stellar stars or stealthy skies.
After all these years... where are my pastures of prayer?
Where is my happy ending?!?
I await for the decorum... as the darkness devours me!
There is a method in your madness,
A vain and venal nature,
You possess and masquerade.
I wish you were a mere memory,
Not the vast, vertigo inducing
Sentiment, which mesmerizes me,
Which murders me.
Monsters, both of us, darling,
Vulnerable and villainous,
Muddling each other's feelings, thoughts.
What my mawkish heart could not bear,
Was your vice,
The way you misled me,
Matching the pain others had inflicted.
Marred by this,
I have lost my vivacity,
Vitiated by your change of mind.
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