Father and the Boy or (Ah ah aah yeah!)

Father, father no, don’t do this to me

Come, come my child, I am your father

Come give it to me,

No, no, father, I am only seven you see

Come, come here, lord’s home is where you should be,

And I am here too!

Come let me thrust some blessing into you,

Ah ah aah yeah! Jerk a little more my boy,

I’m your father after all, don’t be so coy

Aah aah, ah yeah! The father came with a burst of joy,

Don’t tell anyone of the secret blessing

I have bestowed on you, you boy!

And come again when I call

Father asked the child,

The blessed boy bled from the strike of spear

But did come again to father in fear,

And did so until he was fifteen,

For the father had stopped blessing him anymore,

He loved kids below sixteen.

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Pretty Marry or ( Spear of Destiny)

Pretty Marry, pretty pretty she was
Failed to meet a good old man,
In the world of woes and bane
Pretty lost she was.

Pretty Pretty Marry
She did all she could
Tried to drown her pain in whiskey
Smoked rings to let out the worry.

Last when I saw her
She was singing a song about love
Her skin showed scratches and punctured veins
Her stained teeth smiled through lips pale.

Her crimson eyes and swollen lids told her story,
And she looked, not like she did before
Pretty Marty’s pretty face
Wasn’t pretty, and her body, had lost its grace.

Pretty Marry pretty poor and pitiful she was
Last time I saw her, she was dead in an alley
Then I was young, today I am aged
Scratched, stained, and punctured, by the spear of destiny.

Many Women and Human

I met many women in my short life
And all of them thought that I was someone,

One of them called me a brat, another a snob
One thought I was cute while another said I was rude,
Once a woman elder said that I was a child,
And a younger one announced that I beguile,

I remember one woman had claimed that I was smart,
I also remember the one who had told me that I was living a lie,
I know of a woman who presumed me to be a sinner
And another who just wanted me for dinner,

And now when I sit
And think about those women,
And remember all the names they called me by
Self absorbed, sure about their prejudice
None of them thought, or called me what I truly am,
Just a human.

Fuck with Me

She holds Larry’s hands

And talks more to Barry,

It’s me she prefers to fuck

 

She eats her tiffin with Lily

And enjoys cocktails with Kelly,

But it’s me she loves to fuck with

 

She cries on Harry’s shoulders

And jokes with Carrie

But she chooses to fuck with me

 

She lives with her sisters

In a house that serves misters

But she loves to fuck with me.  

Leave Poem

Leave Poem

I did not go to the office today

Today, I avoided my work place,

Why? I am unsure

Maybe I just did not feel like today.

All night the previous night

I twisted and tossed and turned in my bed

while my mind in a fit vomited

Puked thoughts all night

And it puked so much,

that there came a little blood

And all I night I could not sleep

Lying awake, neither could I smile

nor could I weep.

When I woke up

the throat of my mind hurt,

From the incessant passage of thorny and prickly thoughts

And now it does not say anything

or think anything

Whilst I cried with a headache.

And the only words that mind could utter

were ‘I am Tired’

And cannot remain in the cage of these thoughts;

It cannot stay wired,

So my soul in the matter interfered

And decided that it did not want to go

to the office today;

for there I shall find people,

who are as alien as the moon

I see their light and the monster that squats

But I don’t see the beauty

I cannot feel the warmth,

So, I decided to not go and see them

I kept my eyes closed and stayed,

And I realised that I do not like what I do there

And hence I go to the office today.

 

 

 

Words of the World

Words of the World

Why do you hide your thoughts
behind the veil of your state-of-the-art vocabulary?
You talk about society and secularism from the knowledge you gained in the library.

Come down here,
Amidst the men of this earth, this country, state, district, village,
Set your feet amongst these men of the world;

See how they see and what they see
The torture, deaths, debts, and rapes,
Feel the burden of falling economy on their tired and old heads,
Walk with them on the drought-stricken lands and
Share with them a-day-old rotten bread.

And when you have known how they live,
When you are aware of the truth, the society, the people
Then talk of them, write, and preach
Your ideas in their language, in their words;

And only then will your words ever have meaning,

Else they will just be passionate masterpieces, meaningless verses
About bells, ghosts, and birds;

Afterall what story is a story, or a prose, or a poem
That is full of words, but empty of yourself,
unclear to the people of the world.