I saw (Poem)

Photo by Anni Roenkae: https://www.pexels.com/photo/graphic-art-2156883/

Three lambs and
two dreams got
shattered that day.

A dead hoarding with
bleeding lights
and a grandma wrinkles
was saying something but
who cares?

I was drumming with
the disasters and humming
with flames of youth
and games of Bluetooth.

The pen store owner
with a zen tummy
and a comet mood
was rearranging the shop.

I got little attention in the store
my mood
seeing that
evaporated or rather
stomped.

I know that gravity bends light and
sanity ends fight
but on that day it was shown that
profanity begins a dark night.

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In the living room (Poem)

Image by Reno Suri from Pixabay

I am a native of sofa land
the cushions hold
the petty pelf of the pockets
who come out
of the dark caves
when unearthed by
month-end archaeologists
with tight finances.

The velvet fabrics
flog the oval bodies
which were moulded
by the slothy sittings.

Thick pillows form
the cradle of liberty
with some butt perfume
coming out at the crossroads
of division.

— Drunken Wood.

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The Lost ones (Poem)

Photo:iStock

In a cafe
all were there
yet no one was there
everyone lost
in their own way
like Marx’s Alien
or like Durkheim’s
Anomie
no, it’s not a cliche.
lovers lost
in a fight
friends lost
in a laugh
ants lost
in a line
waiters lost
in a table
cats lost
in music
worker bees lost
in 0’s and 1’s
teens lost
in hormones
caffeine and the sugar lost
in the flood of emotions
while I lost
in an apple pie
all eager
to create or
erase memories
except, for a poet
who’s stealing some.

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Silly Walk (Poem)

Photo by Camila Rocha: https://www.pexels.com

Hello Grass
As a scalar man
with only magnitude
and no direction

I semi-float
on the dewed bodies
with the neurons greened

The face-washed skin
piped up
to the peaches of trees

Arc of happiness bent
to the flavor of Petrichor

Slope of sanguinity bent
to the gliding grasshopper

As the milky sky awaits
to dip
I stand here
to witness the
vacuum between
the breezy breaths.

— Drunken Monk

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Yes and yes (Poem)

Photo by Hugo Heimendinger: https://www.pexels.com/photo/woman-s-portrait-photo-poster-1766236/

Someone said that
sentiments are prison cells.
As one cannot run away
to a Kantian Noumenonal world
or escape to a Maya temporarily
at least for a minute or so.
Like a satellite
one keeps orbiting around them
funded by latent heat of remorses.
They die only with the dead
and live only with the living.

Nirvana can censor them
but not erase from the drawers
of neurons.

Ultimately we are
what our circuits do
day in and day out.

In this fight club
the member cannot fight.

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Far away (Poem)

Image by Lin Tong from Pixabay

I could sense
a gravitational wave
amending the space and time
when the village light
hit the edge of Sufi eyes.

An officer crow
orbiting around
and a dutiful horizon
painting the cowboy sky.

Warrior fishes
slaving the chaotic tone
of the river
and the bears
muscling up
to edit the food chains and webs.

Local vegetation
stand like the saints
in the Jain monastery
forever grateful to the origins.

Spiritual air
here
can make
even the emperors
wear robes
and cleanse the bloody history.

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Subway Observations (Poem)

Credit:istock

Earth in tectonic walking
Pigeons in paragliding
Ants in their pious pilgrimages.

Earphones arrested to
the solitary moods
and introvert chats
of urban-horses.

Station swelling
like a soda can
with time hungry zombies
and pre-mature chuck Taylor all stars.

Sapiens carrying philosopher stones
called iPhones
turning their lives
caged and combed
to baser chords of life.

trains move by
with their somber
easter songs
and carbon noises.

Far from the gaze of the sky
the de-oxygenated fishes
rush up to climb up
and take in the brown gases.

Bags glued to the
shoulder blades
or some anatomical stuff.

up-down
side-side
down-up
is the motion of civic legs
like a troubling tractor
in Smallville.

All rushing to spread
their sticky legs
like a lava
like a snooping state
or some Australorp rooster.

— Drunken escalator.

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Intellectual (Poem)

Image by Агзам Гайсин from Pixabay

Is enslaved to the roaring winds of wisdom
Forever
obliging to
The king of all virtues: truth
and
the queen of all virtues: justice.

A daring doubter
wrecking past, present, future
with thunderbolts of insight.

They interrogate
the flickering moral compass of mountebank
and make defiance their default state.

their heart can combat the vices of moral world
with bold silences.
kickstart rebellions in people’s hearts and minds
with nameless pen names and common sense.

you can find them in coffee houses, unknown gutters
or even in high castles
anywhere
everywhere
scavenging the glaciated, deceased opinions of society
and
lighting the cigar of uncertainty
and brewing the bonfire of the gospel
and forging
a new antithesis out of an aged synthesis.

—Drunken Lamp.

UdayLeave a comment