sun-flowered eternities of a sunnightish universe- this ournessness

Standard

a gigantic butterflying sun
you are, in blinding and burning flutters
unsettlingly in a frictional motion, binding
with slanted sunshine linearities despite
the momentary flares that’s engaging too

when I see you once and often and almost
all the time..you seem to stare idly over my exuding irises
but then in your nacreous reflections there’s filmed versions

in webbing series.. of how you trickily
insert romantic dramatics- those ever continuing

hide and seek plays of intimate presence
with sudden disappearances…all mixed up
in an awaited aching tone of love’s eternity– an
earthen fragrance and flavour
of just harvested turmerics and home-ground
fenugreeks, the rimming

redness vibes and exuberance you
glower and glimmer evermore are in the synthesizing
of my newness nothingness my
meaninglessly meaningful
conception of a meloncholic solitude
that’s ‘us’ in our sunnightish universe

pic: web, #ChrisBradleyArt

Advertisements

some suns and dragons of a saturday’s stuck-up twilight

Standard

1.
before this serially twitching rhythm
in molten hottening warmup tempos
stops its primal drumming c(ir/y)cle,
there’s a coming home confluence
in the twilight’s transitional silence

2.
the dashing breeze gave in to violence
by grapewine lips and unworked cheeks
whilst those eyes stared in empty fixtures
over an agitated dragonfly hitting bright white
lights that drew it nearby, as if were self-cursed

pic: web

dissecting the discrete nighlight dots and bits: a darkizen’s inevitable mutation

Standard

 

inside the blurrily winking and dimming
nightlight colours in motion – monstrous
shadowing greys smoke off in endless clouded nuke puffs:

clotted to choked- the firing blood and conscience
rise in ashen dusts

wipes off the remnant souls and smells of love- a

white-washed blandness languishes in morbid loneliness, an

insane species in a self-cloning spree

walks along in dangerous contradictions

survival is not of relevance any more

its the black humored apocalyptical bubbling spirals

something pulling such lightning fast in suicidal implosions

this dark devil seems to adorn as it kills as it kills

 

 

 

 

Pic: web

 

 

#an inspired write from the crying nightlights n darkness streets of the 1976 movie Taxi Driver …”Just the part about the contradictions. You are that”

“The days go onband on…they don’t end. All my needed was a sense og someplace to go. I don’t believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention, I believe that one should become a person like other people”

“One of these days i’m gonna get organezized”

thenmittai~ the forgotten honeycandy chapters of a coimbatorean childhood tymes:(

Standard

got hold of you today by a lucky chance encounter

not but to rejoice loud of the sweet irony that is you
my goodold honeycandy-

– your spongy oranges are subtly frost-crusted berries in sizeable hardcoats
that’s not to be mistaken for saffronic
right extremities they almost galore

-inner you surprisingly have immense
porosities that’s overly dipped in syrupy pools, each bite’s

a whirlwind tour unto your
whirlpool core, whirring past
the chewed to sucked to licked
to emptied to muchmore unsaid
acoustically sensual gastronomics

remember those childhood days
those tymes when you just costed
a five paise..[got you once in
like a festive rarity- a loadful

laddu pack of 20 exactly
all for that one big rupee coin
i had monkily managed to get through
mom’s unreachably high
secretive kitchen bank (an eversilver
dabra mounted on the fourth rack)]

now price sky-rocketing high
so many times, but aw seems your
specs have never changed a bit till now

except that a cornerly pathetic look
you hang with a smile so cosmetic
in thoughts so unbearable
of your almost extinct status, you
lovely endangered candy- excusing
the truth you come with not a drop
of honey, ur name such a misnomer, you

ought to be not more than
a mere ballfull of softy sugary syrupy candy
colored bright with hues so (suably) synthetic

of fullmoons and tsunamis…

Standard

 

images (23)1443049353..jpg

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

they have

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

 

pic: web

no questions anymore…

Standard

this not-so-robust a sacred champaka canopy
in scented sprawls, flutters with pink-cheeked berries
and profusely bold-yellow petals

adorns an ardent banyan heart

abodes not just you my bulbul, but the daytime
caucals in nostalgic- hued sapotaceous feathers
and blood-cherry eyes, and those classic black
and white spotted common cuckoos in silent visits

but you my bulbul, the tiny spritely talkative
crested one in bright pink under-tails, have
nested here forever amongst its ovelapping
broad leafblades and shouldering branchlets
since you birthed from ur scripted sunset yolks

this twilight as i listen to ur fast faint and fading
calls until vanishing into ur nothingness sleeps
reminds of my lil girls’ seemingly frivolus dream talks
in some ancient or perhaps alien dialectic discourse

its only but lucid to the core…the yearns of love of bonds

we are bits of consciousness and sprinkled stardusts

birthing lives yet again and again, with remnant memoriesm
and startling reminiscences that bonds us yet again

i remember you my bulbul my lil girl my this alien self too

as i listen to our silences, our full or faint calls n talks
this our ancient love
amidst all our chaotic spreads n breaths
until we all drain n unite unto

the singularities

.

 

pic: self 

eyegame #1 : the crisis

Standard

eyes in utter
impoverishment
desperately
searched yours
in an awaited
mergence

but when they met
in an instant
dramatic act…

mine threw away
from focussing
yours’ drawing
magnetic ones

…out of ?

perhaps
a combobulated
mixture

of infinite craving
and intense love
masked
in just opposing
demeanours

of a racing self-disperal
of an enacted ignorance
of quickened movements

but why?

when the need
was in embracing
your rendezvous

Just wondering
if the same chaos
dug you so deep
and  sweet bitter
stirring a crisis

this

love