Waiting

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and.  stark three words..

sharing Christian Mihai..tq!:)

 

Source: Waiting

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this ‘one’ birthed radical unto daring daylights, with eyes of molten suns and pasolini spirits.. ends your rotten blackened era

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that ‘one’ molten moon-like sun
and ‘a’ spark, this diehard pasolini
spirit in possessed grips- are not
some bygone ‘ones’ of expired

yesterdays in sepia’s suppressed
surrogate dreams, rather slightly

a greasy stigmatic layered ‘paaladai’
still radically stuck from their
slimming silken floatative skins: this
‘a’ countryside’s divinely conceived
teurgoule of meditative severities

it, this destined ‘one’, sweetsourly
haunts in birthing contractions
kicks its way out of ‘a’ kaliyug’s
rampantly blindfolded nepotistic
hierarchical unculled networks

to ‘a’ cried out clarity of streaming
daylights, this child this ‘one’ who’s
breaking free of shackled clutches

whatever long ‘the’ laid out complicity
matrices, these tracherous nexuses

Pic: Web, ‘Re-birth’ abstract art by Delawar- Omar

magmatic rage of a midnight bluebird are glowering suns of infinetly birthing universe in its poetic soulfulness

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#rage #rowdiram
#PractiseRighteousRage #RowdiramPazhagu
#FrostAndBharathiyarAndMe
#thedepths

It looked as if a night of dark intent was coming, and not only a night, an age. Someone had better be prepared for rage… ~Robert Frost

whatever the classical verses
hold essential
in there the poetic truth
and soul, its only when one’s
own suns flare
in

reddening magmatic flows
of a righteous
rage
(in your own fights fought

in bled out deepfringed hearts
splashingly downsized
to destiny’s clotted
darkness spilt haphazard
in sound’s sudden
submergence – this adamant
eternity , rather there’s
never a

lopsiding lounge of brewing
senses in frilled facultative existence
of loosely hung lust laden veils
so in translucence that much
feigns- like crafted rainbow
threaded textures but
afterall dwell

in holed-up bogging hungers, this
maskless hunter in slimed mossy
gloss, luring unabashedly in
vociferous hissing
kisses)

glowers and gleams, their
rays are at purposed ease to piercekill
the lurking shadowdy greys to the
paling conscience [irreversibly
plunging into their dug shallows]

and whatever whatsoever
coming in way of depthly
and almost deathly climaxings

#uj2110170226
#postmidnytmaniacs
#sacredwarringself

Pic: web, Taft McWhorter Art

better untitled than my usual longrunning taletelling ones, as young and innocent purehearts get crushed by the soulless ‘you’

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morning beauty datura’s
milkwhite gramophone smiles
seemed today
astounded to comatose
mutedness as if they

desperately prayed
for irreversible deaths
from chemburn breaths, with
their dreamt
faroff calmer universes
in those glazing stillgazingeyes

deafening decibels and choking smoke

were no chimes to their fading
trunks-

thinned swannecks
suffocating in morbid
swansongs

-that pleaded to self-plucked
heroic submissions like swadeshi
Bhagaths in pronounced sentences by you
the conquerers with ‘divide and rule’ alienating
mindsets of the plundering missions

meanwhile, the artistic sandy ashbirds
that ever straight-dived into merriment
airs with lightning elegance
were

contemplating
forever deep-plunges
into nowhere of the
elsewhere worlds

and children played around unknown
of the lavishing toxicities

with difficult laughters of the kind
that echoed a lost paradise’s
paralysed crops of the last kind

#pic: web, michal mozolewski art

your wholesome welcome in holds of fissioning meteoritic hits.. sets in an unsaid alchemy of our fusioned vanishings

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its that splashing tidal salt aberrating sensations

like randomly maddening goosepimplicious
spreads over famined skinnish scapes hung out
naked in toungefull porosities

that was in the asking need this moonlit
night in trembling solitudinal strings , like an
inexplicably rippling clayey pools in rapturous
crying
that this wild wide-mouthed flowerface does
in tearful silence of the corner eye’s liberating
rains

wholesomeness is not an enough word
with its hitting seasalt fragrances
over nostrilicious cheeks
and the flavoursome fleshy emanates
of a fusioned facade

dissections and deconstructions wouldn’t
have strongholds
when your molten mysteriousness magnets
pulls me whole inner your whirring blackhole

 

 

pic: web, #RuthBrownlee art

there’s no more music and morning serenities lined up as we diaboically dash towards dungeoned doomsday

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humming bees in spatial kolams n the muddy mother wasps
busy hovering dragons in ‘no agenda’ planar geometries
to the chirping romantic mynas and ultra-beeping acrobatical rabbits

they still breathe in sync with the elemental cosmos, Her mystical dancing patterns

smothering Her tranquil scapes n species
are your in’human’e mangling noises
boring bleeding her core
until to be digging Her

rudra n thandav

apocalyptical dusts

‘showing now’

in teasers of hurricanes n wildfires

dengues n nuclear threats n dirty politiks

n more. such sprees of destruction n deaths

seems suicidal self-accelerated destiny perhaps

as Her the Kali’s wrath flares up incremental

and but a poet is not just a hardcore romantic

Poetic soul is not blind n in sidelined silence

Harmony n pacifications are his/her rituals to Her

Pic: web, David Ho Art

an october’s stagnated bitternoonblooms shaded in (some gibberish) greys

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and, when this overcast noony glooms somewhere
spots a fireflashy woodpecker-that slides along slick
in chameleonic ease over taken-for-granted silences
of a forsaken cemented post wrapped sparse
in wilting greens ..the eyes these eyes-

– benumbed and worked up by now, paling fast
in equatorial desiccations

-take a sudden tumbling diversion
perhaps more of a realization
of whatever -holic suffixes gotten branded
wouldn’t be befitting the hard truths of how
“unorganezized” days are now, when
in fact, the drawing like fatalities

was still evermore unto the stuck-up
concreted spells hardly in the unleashing, with
a terribly intoxicating moistbitterness spread
around..that never would flow (a)way-s

pic: web, Antonio Mora’s art