Lovely Lucy

Lovely Lucy

Lovely Lucy, tired of pretending to be asleep

Crawls out and lingers about her bed;

Indulging for a moment in a reverie where sheep,

Donning colourful garments made of human flesh forget

The point of it all and decide to play a game

In which they follow Mr. Red  (‘The fat one’)  in a file

As he circles the big sundial, marked nine to five,

In a proud gait – evidently aware of his fame.

Here, the chance ringing of a neighbour’s doorbell

Jerks Lucy out of the dream, into the congested beehive

Of her block and leaves her stranded before the sink,

Where Lucy brushes her lovely teeth in her nightgown pretty pink.

 

 

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Mr. Stranger

Mr. Stranger

Dearest stranger, how long have you been sitting here,

Sipping stale coffee, listening to others’ songs clawing out

Of the dilapidated jukebox; whilst you, enlightened one, keep living in fear

Of the imagined aliens and all-knowing almighty, and shout

Slogans gently whispered in your ear by well dressed sheep?

Tell me, Mr. Stranger, how long till you figure out that the price

Of not resisting the piper as he makes fake promises and weeps

Crocodile tears into his velvet handkerchief, sending the flock into cries

And inconsolable shrieks of grief, is more than what you have to pay

If you listen to your mind and start to think for yourself what you want to say?

 

A Wonderful Evening

A Wonderful Evening

I was drifting up above my mortal remains beneath a mango tree,
Surrounded by a promising void in an empty virtual reality.
Muffled voices laughed when I claimed to have figured it all,
Beholding the freak caught amongst the hypnotised lot at the mall;
Little knowing you had slipped me all the answers back in the hall.

My consciousness became conscious of its existence,
And decrying its having to reside inside the narrow fence
Of my stale imagination, it battered against the insides my skull,
Dreaming of the illusion that was the universe outside the wall.

Somewhere entwined among the tangled vibrations in the air:

A man audibly perturbed by her woman’s claim of knowing
What it was like to not be.

The abrupt cacophony of the muffled voices as I flew, flapping
The vaporous set of wings you had lent me.

The spuriously sensual beating of the clock, its slowed ticking
Signalling I was far removed from home, free.

​Johnny Boy

Johnny Boy

Poor little Johnny boy loves monkeys and Shakespeare.

He sits and taps the tattered typewriter glued to his chair;

When he is not hiding under the polka-dot blanket in fear

Of the bogeyman that his ex-wife left for him to deal with.

It’s tea-time now, and through a broken kitchen shutter

Johnny sees a young couple in the park beside McLaren’s bar,

Kissing passionately upon the glossy green grass underneath.

He sips his coffee more sensually than the lover smooches his date

And duly returns back to typing, oblivious that the cake he just ate

Was licked by good ol’ Marley, his Capuchin pet;

And so Johnny types on in search of his Shakespearean sonnet.

A Death

A Death

In the shade, under the trees, in my garden of gloom;
I was enjoying a quiet solitary afternoon,
Accompanied by the wind and the flowers that bloomed
Among my lovely weeds that had grown too soon.

While getting acquainted with these elements I had found,
I heard from my porch a curious sound
Of nervous flapping of wings, and an eventual thud.
“A bird…it probably hit something”, I thought;
And rose, dropping my rose, and turned around.

From a distance, I saw the poor soul fight
To fly off the ground, flapping with all its might.
As I ran up to where it struggled, it seemed
For a moment that it would succeed;
And for a few seconds, it was indeed in flight.

My delight was short lived though,
For soon its wings ceased movement; I saw
It fall through the air and land beside my feet.
The bird was quiet, even as I carefully lifted it
From the ground; and that’s when I came to know,
That it was lifeless.

The Goddess of Love

The Goddess of Love

I was hastily aging, sitting next to you all alone

While you watched the magician perform ill-rehearsed tricks

To a spellbound audience of dumbfounded geeks.

Though bored by the familiar illusions; you looked on

Through those glittering eyes that twinkled and shone

Behind ambition-tinted specs with a blinding light.

(Only to be outdone, of course, by the bright emanating from your smile)

Years passed, yet the clocks insisted ‘twas only a while,

And I was all alone again, with you sitting next to me:

Once, glued to a pixelated window, praying to the powers that be;

That the replication of those electronic words and sounds

For once take an eternity (so I’d have you around).

Once, under the vapourous night sky, eighty feet high;

Listening to how you wanted to climb and fly and never look back.

Seconds passed but ah, the treacherous clocks – confound them!

This time their regime decreed hours had gone by.

Finally once, with each of us hallucinating, staring at our hypnotic devices;

A thousand miles in between (Technically not next to you, but I invoke poetic license),

Talking of hearts of stone, dreams, love and life and all else unseen;

You were, are and will be forever freer than a dove;

But for this poet of yours, the one and only Goddess of Love.

A Night In Her Life 

While you look on as the sun sets for half a day

To do his bit for that other half of humanity 

And hear mother in the other room say,

“See you dear”, as she goes out wearing the nocturnal face,

(Or perhaps washing off the one carefully reserved for you)

And as you, as the demons of your creation come to life, brace 

For your daily battle against the invisible monsters of the night,

You, a veteran now, I’m sure will fight;

Even as your spectres turn you to stone, 

You will, from your plastic throne, keep them at bay

And yet again survive for another day.