your made-up crunched numbers will never crash
but where’s even the traces of a soulbank presence
for those surreal churned out only-supertide hits
or eyes at the least for glimpsing the everdawning
bland artificialities you procreated hard from poor
imaginations; but, all what
is absolutely nothing to lose, just an endlessly
indelible soulshore still still in crudely roaring
ebb n tide destiny plays
taking in some tsunamis n bridal fullmoons often
Floating tiny clues
left in chance encounters,
invisible rays of cross-flowing currents,
filling insipid space with an air of mystical
languages craving to be decoded by you,
released not in any showy act of deliberation, truth
overflows to its draining ocean in some definite course,
Sense those indelible signs falling in place,
..Splattered clusters of reaching
globules touching your waiting
radar of absorbent receptacles,
those sublime speaking circular surface
aglow alive with randomly expressed
emotional tentacles, as if in dire need
to sit inside your each matching cubicle..
Fitting in sync beyond any known calculations,
a worthy grassy pasture kissed with starry buds,
like diamond dewdrops of sparkling symmetry,
reflects a new geometry in each integral facet.
Blowing fibres of fertile winds, firmly
ensemble blossomed flower to a married
fragrance of unified garland, in a garden of permanence,
Carving out a sturdy peninsula studded in your succulent life- bay,
Vivisecting rivers of your passionate infiltration in a playful say.
Chaotic child of your unrepressed indulgence gets an ordered stay,
One among the rarest naturally expressive beings, a challenge though!
an integral thread of well
knit garment crosses norms
out of a daring passion spurt
naming it a community’s culprit
hangs out from his hand segment
tapping tunes of a wavy dancing
note on his numbed skin-drapes
never sun-screened darkened elbows
peeps on each pores raring to feel
him more still in an exploring sway
seems unaware of its loosened stand
scrapping weave discipline as a whole
his rudra in stormy roaring ragas
blows unplanned from arrhythmic
rages that every being’s a slave
life staggers in an angered hand pull
very master of its prema in a tensile
stretch as insanity fires its fineness
creepy sharp knife edges bleed him in mild
scream before curled in an orphaned death
seeds of the skies
sown on their
earth in revamped
layer of wetness,
immersing in a log
of flowing freshness,
a bed to sow splashing
beads of raindrops,
a vertical depth of fall
against the upper drops..
Yes ,it is..lots and lots
of plus seen on surface..
Minds irrigated to breathing
areoles fissuring bitter blocks,
flowering from each pores
stalks of dew-drop red rose
What it takes in making a feel come fully alive?
Premeditated self of fidelity towards a purpose
rises in tiny rivulets of attempts,
unlocks to free little by little,
that tied-up hugeness of inner slave,
shows up in a release of air, raring to fly unbound,
an air attached with tiny
floats of aloof island-pieces of feel ions,
some touch upon,even hit hard to throw
out a tremble of sweaty fear,
a sweet-digging strangeness flow,
a caved-in life-giving hotness,
or just a sprinkle of goose pimples even.
Chemistry is a two-way try,
fused threads of one and the other in an exchange,
a release of newly felt feel,
simply clusters the islands to a landmass chunk for a happy walk,
though bleeds of pain too is not uncommon sooner or later.
Other multiple transfers is a lucky lame duck,
more than two seems to be a rare sight in any case.
Vicious knife ran over the animal, caged
yet not docile as it meant to be,
a surprise of a wild incompletion
of true free-verses seeking passion.
The researcher never had been frank
to seek his
Experimental tantrums in wicked
sparkles on those set of neatly laid-out
various Vaughan Abscess knives,
His robotic tasks gleaming in plastic smiles,
wooing his prey in a stylish romantic ease ,
a perfect one-night stand on this guinea pig,
to bleed out its breathing plasmatic truth.
Life spilled in termination in his love-dipped
mask of strangulation moves ,
walls splashed in merriment of crimson inks
Cruel hands cleansed sooner of any memories of last seen
innocence on those eager eyes,
Just coming of the age, in the dying moment
for that rare-virtued existence now made extinct,
about flashy deceptive aprons worn in convenience.
Silence of a saint now grips
the serial killer , after a clinical release.
Eyes now search for a gerbil, a hamster
or even a fruit fly to uphold his workplace sanity.