The Knife Deep In

With ill-advised flair,
In full public glare,
Though low on tact,
He, the self-made, imbibed the tract.

Eyes squinted, hazy,
To fathom the worded treasure,

The nostrils wheezy,
As the letters contorted in measure.

Threw it down, he did,
Shook his head,
Bounded for air,
That practically wasn't there.

The treasured tract, so far,
Had failed to accord the life,
That oozed from its door ajar,
When deep in he'd sought the knife.

MID-NIGHT BRAWL

Prevailing altercation,
A string of expletives,
A dash of angry shouting,
Rent the warm night air.

The faithful night breeze,
Carried the commotion far and wide,
Rats stopped their activities to listen,
Crickets stopped their innocuous sounds.

The man could be heard quite distinctly,
Effing and blinding strenuously,
Barking, screaming and shouting,
As he pulled his wife by her hair.

Finally, the two were outside.
And the whole world with them,
The world watched as they rolled and turned,
Clutched, clawed and hit each other.

The man shouted:You have betrayed our love,
You did confidently sleep,
With my friend, under my very roof!

The neighbours very well remembered,
The tall, lanky fellow,
Who had discreetly left the man's house,
Early that evening.

The woman heatedly rejoined:You slept with the chief's wife last week,
You moved around with my best friend,
And I did not raise as much as an eyebrow.

The bandying was sustained for as long as it could hold,
With either party venting their heart's contents on the other,
The man was the first one to have enough of it all,
As he slammed his burning fist against her face.

INSULAR

Banal mental upheavals,
Cloud the inner corridors,
Painting dull streaks,
With unending rapidity.

Each streak curls its tail,
In bands of unsightly insulation,
Fomenting insipid deviations,
Unrealistically seeking recognition.

The state of the mental hovel,
Displays immense depravity,
Spewing drivel in captivity,

All along awaiting a blinding light!

ODE TO THE CHARADE: ZIMBABWE

A sham, bloody deception,
The bounding, white army chanted.

              Undemocratic, unparalleled injustice,
                  The tardy (nay, tacky), black army chorused.

Unrivalled travesty, perfect ambiguity,
The International community whimpered.

               But the black man stood, unstung,
                   The virulent words falling on barren ears.

“Keep your noises to yourselves,”
He advised the white and black alike.

           The bandying of coloured words ensued,
              All parties pulling the frayed reins.

Just before the snap of the frayed joints,
The black man cleared his sooty throat:
“If thou deemest yourselves clean enough,
Be the first to hurl disjointed pebbles!”

The white and black armies cast unfurled glances,
And voluntarily retreated to their murky hovels.

DEEPER LEVEL

Superficiality,
Wends out of the woodwork,
Specificity,
Stands as its undying bulwark;
Its ins and outs,
Awakens a long-forgotten stench –
Putrid, unforgivable, obscene wisps!

 
Poking holes in forged glass,
Hankering after splintered smithereens,
The innocence of deception reeks,
As the celebrant fires manifold salvo,
Breaking the flow of the whirlpool,
Brackish waters do a dance –
Following suit, a rush for the vortex!

PAGE 10

The fingers flick,
Leaves rustle,
Back and forth,
Fast forward.

The leaf stands solitary,
Loneliness bites it,
The eye ignores, overlooks,
The screaming page 10.

A voice bawls out,
“Page 10 missing!”
The eye starts, surprised,
The voice listens not to reason.

Someone nudges in the queue,
Pushing ever so persistently,
“He needs 10 dollars -
To resurrect the fallen page.”

Speak of international travel travails,
That bespeak reeking rottenness,
A living passport changes hands,
Parting shot: Bon voyage!