Untitled (Girls)

Indignant languages mumbled by girls with heartbreak

Nothing amiss in their hairstyles and pain and spirits plummeting

Offer lessons that brood in recesses of minds torn by bald facts of eternal strife

And other official disclaimers renouncing their births 

Chauffeurs of wrecks mended by backyard mechanics 

Round up thrill seekers  swelling in mini-skirt parades with sound tracks of  duplicity 

Corrupting virgins with vain prospects of orgasms and credit

In kind of stale biscuits and yoghurt to bolster confidence in debauchery

Swirling sentimentality wrapped in song arouses overdue lusts

Rhymed gestures by drunken dancers are a business here among the ruins

As slim breasted concubines fighting over ciders tumble groped by perverts

And born-agains with contempt for prayer and climaxes of their failures

Like outworn instruments of pleasure bitterly they transmute their disarming agony

With more cunning and seduction for marauders of taverns taking inebriated refuge

Plotting against their admirers and attractive corpses sprawled on mattresses

Pinching pockets and socks for notes and jewels for later day saints

Yet many are crowned with mundane consolations stroking hearts

Festering sparks of youth faded into distractions for their shrivelling souls

Some blossoming into insults for the pure in fortune and unfaded looks

But accepting defeat in museums of infidelities crowded  by funerals and games

Untitled (Currently)

Roaming the streets derelict and dreamless

Past narrow back alleys exacerbated by memories of secret rendezvous

Hours that dashed past idling stalls and spazashops

Luxuriating in sweet longing for disappointments

Guilt-ridden comforts and mistakes plotted

Suddenly frequent my sleep with charming disquiet

And I awake with a shudder at simple essences of decay about me

Meandering these drunken streets burning with chills of obituaries

Slumberous walks of a distraught mind at bridges to erasure

Entrusting his heart to gossip and other curiosities

Conclusions prolonged with psalms of a wondrous life upended

Here his story is a parody unconsoled by drink and scented smoke

Rags he scrutinises inside wait on shoulders of his monsters

Seizing all torment and suppressing its surge from gurgling into drains

From whence the ghetto sniffs itself throughout heat blizzards 

Ransacking its treasures of boredom and tedious leisure

With such glimpses into reprimanded futures

Caged with other birds and dissipating lives

Lacerating a heart weighed by worrisome indulgences with rescues

Of my kin known for intolerable ignorance and spite

In him each death mourned during evenings’ agonies

Flickers disconsolately like a faded film overlooking pasts possibilities

And the ambient tale of sorrow writes yet another chapter to be sung 

Aghast with castigation by other forlorn sons and daughters ruined by emptiness

And could this be fate’s dealing a tolerable hand unclenched

To gamblers with souls as cards to barter for vouchers and life expectancies

Amidst animal vanity and proud displays of wounds as tokens

At this final hymn of strange-less days welcoming wayward guests knocking when tears abate

Could these unhinged heads be laughing in chorale to their ghost-face

Reciting thrills to soothe vanished spies who died with old middays

And could this walk be final and borne safely to the rim of oblivion

Without chronicling my disdain for shuttering searches for a respite?

Will we once witness a storm of butterflies inhabiting most our reveries

In unison with our peers soured by age and diseases of mad-towns

Out here at the outskirts of mercy and fortune for the unjust

Where many have inspired ghosts to labour on their behalf?

Perchance not

For the rifles are dealt to the brave to slaughter those closest to heart first

Out here, where swamps of rage boil with heartbeats of young provocateurs

Who face bleak nights jostling with frayed and tempered angels – and rage

A Poem Without A Cause

When shimmering January skies, clad in wafts of tinged breezes

Quiz my soul drowned by sobs of defeat

Why my thoughts nestle in disquieting shadows?

I brave all illusions and pressure my dire pretension

To  trust in fate’s impassioned arms unsuspecting of thorns.

With reproach, my inner eye greets misery

Each dawn handled like a vase of decayed petals

And with blunt candour, I retrieve my scars

Daunted still by betrayed nakedness before sorrow

And a probing love dismayed.

The crude dullness of being unwithering

On some outskirts of intuition and trivial sentiments

I stake it all with other butchered reveries behind drawn curtains

Discarded hours and barrels of dreams

Delighted in my skins tossed aside for sacrifice.

It was desire commingled with suckling rage

Backstreet humbleness imitating solitude

That became a meeting place for my mirrored soul

Faced with measureless flaws of youth

And ever-escalating abandon.

Now, seedlings of recollections of festive embraces have dried up

In pots and virginal hearts unable to cup fading elations.

And distantly rising are lost shames and vulgar joys

Shocks of rejected pleasures shovelled with debris of December

Tormented by wonderment and disturbing exhibits of innocence.