Sarcoma-cised

If there must be the heart…
More than just a fist-sized organ…

If there must be sensitivity…
More than just the contracting siphon…

Then why must such butchery…
Of the soul come so easy…
Why then must a man…
Slay a belief with such apathy…

And if then such a massacre…
Of trust must transpire…

If for such carnal gaffes…
The body needs perspire…

Then let me be a cadaver…
A carcass must I be…
For humanity once touched me…
And then did he…

And in the eternal wait…
Affections turn ephemeral…

A convenient turn of the hour…
A verity so belatedly he did cull…

For never shall I now permit…
A healing to my tainted bed…
For love is a cancerous perjury…
To enervate, assail and then shred.

Estell'awe'

Like a slender fern…
She floats in a bemused languor…
Thoughts stroll through the inroads of her mind…

Words strewn around like petals in spring…
And tawny leaves dotting the earth in autumn…
Mould into astute sentences…

Articulating into speech…
Her cherubic mouth does part…
Trickles the words now ordered…
That erstwhile speckled the terrain of her mind…

Engaging and enlightening…
New theories. Novel philosophies….
Sense and sensibility… wit and vivacity…

And in a semi-stunned state…
The stuttering spectators…
Stare at the seraphic form…

Who smiles in silent satisfaction…
And pities the stunted minds…
Of the technical tots and the numerical noughts…
Deprived of the seasons of words…
That to these mulish mortals cannot be taught


And like a slender fern…
She floats in an amused languor…
Laughter sprints through the inroads of her mind…
Estella has dawned into the night.


*Dedicated to my closest friend…my greatest support...and the most beautiful bright-head that I have ever met*

C'wrinkle'd

In me bred happiness…
Joy and glee entwined their fingers…
Revolved in my insides…

Causing goosebumps…
Eliciting a smile…
A toothy smile was mine…
As a brightly-lit rhizome…

Making insignificant creases…
At the edge of my brown eyes…
Furrows of grin…
Crinkles of bliss…

An inexplicable contentment…
That awakened me at dawn…
And sang me asleep in the dark…

For the prophecy hadn’t been said yet…
Toxic words that he said…
A silent hope mouthed…
Struck a deal with my fate…

To happen to me as has happened to others…

And I…
So unaware of his animosity…
So unbelieving of his flaws…
In a delusion of a dotard…
Falling in the quashing palms…
Of fate and of his…

Sitting so oblivious…
Reclining between the palms…
Blinded to an actuality…
That I only functioned…
As a body not a soul…

And then gnawingly and gradually…
The fingers began to close in…
Fisted me in its murk…
Squashed my every essence…
Snipped my every smile…

And then the last move…
To mangle every hope…
And wring out every faith…
Poured over me…
A stream of filth…
A nauseating statement…


And the creases ironed out…
No elation expressed…
The crinkles shifted homes…
From the rim of my eyelids…
To the plane of my forehead…

And if I were to show age soon…
I would rather be furrowed when I smiled…
Than be ironed out into a dispirited flatness…

For I am not a mask…
I am also human…
I do not come with an expiry date…
I am not the “best before 2005” product…

I would also indulge in uninhibited laughter…
That he stole from me…
And now in his yarns of humour…
Distributes it to the world…

And never would he return to me…
What he snatched so callously…
And he will live in joy…
And trash from his memory…
What a misery he unknowingly brought…
And flattened my crinkles…
To gift me with wrinkles.

Sylvia Plath...a mouthpiece for my current state of mind

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight

Feenix

Death is irrevocable
Irreversible…like time
Once a vision blackens
And a shutter is downed
Then the only blaze that remains
Is at the morgue
Ashes born –
Only to merge again
In the elemental whole.

For we are mere humans
Not characters of mythic proportions
Of clay we are made
Only to fuse with earth again
Never to emerge again
But in stories of the supernatural.

Such is the story of feelings
It will not take rebirth
It is a human phenomenon
Not a creation of the imagination
Or of fanciful hopefulness
Like a phoenix.

For a phoenix dies to rise again
But feelings stagnate into oblivion
I remind you dear sir…
Maybe you spelt it wrong…
It is feelings…not feenix
It isn’t just a blunder of the suffix.

Pre-lewd

The empty walls
Dark…stark….
And a shade of fire…
Half light… dimmed light…
Ambered through the space…
Filled in it… a warmth…
Smouldering to fervour…

Shadows splattered on walls…
Like an abstraction…
Stretched out of proportion…
Concealing the truth…

Of two bodies entwined…
Whispers and gasps…
A silent conversation…
Of skin and spirit…

But no definition…no outline…
A haze… a fuzz…
A miasma of desire…

And a soft query…
“What is this…”
For an indestructible faith…
Draped sensibility…
In cloaks of fib…

“A prelude…”
A convenient word…
With a distant hope…
Like the carrot on the stick…

So a semi-conscious trip…
To a callous fall…
In the pit of lust…
Sliding and gliding…
And a thud…
And the sudden interlude…
When actuality strikes…

That “prelude” is such a misleading word…
An overture? A prologue? A preface? ….
A lie?... a deception?...

A way to elude…
Or just to delude.
For I despise…
A prelude.