Life = Death - volume 4 - Poems on Life , Death, Page 2
Nikhil Parekh
of timelessly sacrosanct unity,
The other name of life; is to indefatigably march on the mission to bond all estranged and disparagingly staggering mankind; with threads of unbreakably euphoric and propitiously beautiful camaraderie,
The other name of life; is to soar like a handsomely unblemished prince through the heavens of bountiful oneness; blissfully perpetuate the mantra of iridescent sharing; amongst all cold-bloodedly dreadful parasites,
The other name of life; is to unstoppably innovate a civilization of peerless jubilation all the time; trigger the element of congenital restlessness in your soul; to harness the most enthrallingly optimum of even the most frigid bits of lackadaisical space,
The other name of life; is to be a messiah of all opprobriously decaying living kind; dissipating the unfathomably majestic energy of your persona; to give birth to an immortally optimistic tomorrow,
The other name of life; is to take birth an infinite times again and again and again; for the beloved whom you had wholesomely dedicated your this life to,
And the other name of life; is to always follow the inner most voices of your heart; coalesce even the most diminutive ingredient of your blood with the spirit of divinely compassionate sensuality; even as the entire uncouthly monotonous world outside treated you as the devil’s wife.
3. POURED
The conglomerate of sinister black clouds in the cosmos; poured cloudbursts of torrential rain,
The blazing body of flamboyantly ferocious Sun; poureda garland of profoundly enchanting and fulminating light,
The voluptuously crested nightingale seated on the fir tree; poured a stream of seductively melodious sounds,
The lanky candlestick sizzling in an inferno of handsomely dancing flames; poured an unrelenting river of delectably pearly wax,
The Moon tantalizingly impregnated amidst the quilt of resplendent stars; poured an ocean of uninhibited and milky white beams,
The island of alluringly scarlet roses; poured a valley of stupendously wonderful and exotic redolence,
The oyster held up high in the sky; poured an incredulously enticing volley
of immaculately captivating pearls,
The mind at absolute bliss; poured an unfathomable terrain of emphatically varied and enigmatically tingling fantasy,
The fountain pen inundated with sapphire pools of poignant ink; poured a royal lake of majestically embellished and passionate words,
The cat perched agitatedly on the spiky fence; poured an innocuous string of yelps and effusive "Meows", The gigantic tree standing domineeringly on the isolated hill; poured a cavalcade of rhapsodic berries and bountiful fruits,
The mouth at divinely harmony; poured a tunnel of mesmerizing sound and fabulously fascinating rhyme,
The eye encapsulated by astronomically escalating jubilation; poured a rainbow of ebulliently glistening tears,
The body inevitably imprisoned by a whirlpool of tumultuously fiery romance; poured a waterfall of overwhelmingly volatile sweat,
The scores of Mother cow's marching placidly through the meadows; poured painstakingly a lake of impeccably frosty and celestial milk,
The wedding album lying obsolete for decades on the profusely dusty shelf; poured a tale of nostalgically animated fantasy which permeated through the inner most compartments of my soul,
The wildly philandering panther; poured a tale of thunderously deafening roar; petrifying even the most minuscule of organism in vicinity till the last bone down their spine,
The nose drowned in unprecedentedly obsessive compassion; poured a dungeon of piquantly pepped up and moist air,
And the heart ever since the time it had started to throb; ever since the time it had first palpitated to commence beautiful life; poured only immortal love; would continue to do so intensifying with each beat; even after the world comes to an abrupt end.
4. SOMETHING THAT POURS FROM THE HEART
Poetry is something as mystical as the mountains; shimmering majestically on the rivers in diffused beams of brilliant Sunshine,
Poetry is something as astonishing as the glittering gold biscuits entrenched deep beneath earth; emanating a profound glow that blended poignantly with the
atmosphere,
Poetry is something as ingratiating as the hissing serpent; deluging the morbid ambience around with overwhelming exhilaration,
Poetry is something as ravishing as the blossoming petals of rubicund rose; wafting its essence ubiquitously through all continents of this colossal Universe,
Poetry is something as grandiloquent as the incredulously embellished castle; offering an abode to anyone afflicted by inexplicable distress,
Poetry is something as vivacious as the magnificently swirling ocean; with each of its tangy waves fulminating into a blanket of pungent froth,
Poetry is something as magnanimous as the clouds; which bless the parched soil and ground with torrential showers of mesmerizing rain,
Poetry is something as resplendent as the fathomless rainbow; dissipating into vibrant shades of magnificently animated color,
Poetry is something as exuberant as the cheekily dancing peacock; incarcerating millions in its stupendously enamoring swirl,
Poetry is something as innocuous as the new born infant; touching the hearts of even the most diabolical with irrefutable ardor,
Poetry is something as soft as voluptuously woven pure silk; exquisitely binding every religion prevalent on this planet,
Poetry is something as ingenious as the bubbling buds of mushroom; evolving into celestial sprouts of wonderful white,
Poetry is something as invincible as immortal love; not bound by any spurious intricacy of the monotonous outside world,
Poetry is something as flamboyant as the fiery Sun; diffusing its sweltering rays to stringently sizzle even the tiniest nook and cranny of this globe,
Poetry is something as sweet as delectable crusts of brown chocolate; arousing the most dormantly dead senses in the body, with unprecedented amounts of
rejuvenated vigor,
Poetry is something as exotic as the alluring dancers nimble footsteps; that keep reverberating for times immemorial; even after she relinquished to perform,
Poetry is something as sacrosanct as the holistic cows pearly milk; paving a path of impeccable truth in whosoever who fervently witnesses it,
Poetry is something as thunderous as the cyclonic sandstorm; which swept incessantly with passionate strokes every day across the boundlessly
barren deserts,
Poetry is as swarming as the rambunctious beehives; occupied by countless bees indefatigably busy in spinning tons of golden honey,
And for me poetry is entirely independent of rhyme; meter; structure; mending; tailoring; crisping; written in the most incredulous forms possible; irrespective of age; language; caste; creed or race; O! yes poetry for me is something that pours
directly from the heart.
5. SMALL BOX OF MATCHSTICKS
Don’t just consider them to be lifeless pieces of wood; soggy and extruding black beads of stingy coal,
Don’t just consider them to be a minuscule strand of orphaned stick; lying obsolete on the streets awaiting ardently to be kicked,
Don’t just consider them to be a neglected trash lying dilapidated in the dustbin; rotting in morbidly insipid gloom,
Don’t just consider them to be a soiled wire coalesced in an obnoxious heap with the squalid soil; being trampled infinite times in a single day,
Don’t just consider them to be an incoherent needle; a chunk of worthless shit strewn rampantly amongst the proliferating wilderness,
Don’t just consider them to be a dreary speck; emanating an incredulously ghoulish odor in the placid atmosphere,
Don’t just consider them to be brutally squelched left overs of furniture; wailing miserably under the uncannily shimmering beams of moon,
Don’t j
ust consider them to be worthless beads of profusely broken thorns; burying infinite feet beneath the earth at the slightest of shoving,
Don’t just consider them to be globs of savagely pulverized saw dust; having absolutely no complete entity of their own,
Don’t just consider them to be coating of a dolorously decaying bone; disdainfully polluting the entire area which they infinitesimally inhabited,
Don’t just consider them to be diminutive ants with a black ghastly head; staring indefatigably at each other in nervous exhilaration,
Don’t just consider them to be an insipid follicle of hair; shattering into boundless fragments of dirt the instant one inadvertently caressed them,
Don’t just consider them to be a lifeless skin of vegetable; waiting in overwhelming anticipation to be dumped into the farthest corner of the city gutter,
Don’t just consider them to be shivering crusts of stale bread; blowing away to fathomless kilometers of distance with the tiniest draught of exuberant wind,
Don’t just consider them to be a minuscule thread smaller than the key hole; possessing a life of less than even a whole minute,
Don’t just consider them to be a favorite meal for the woodpecker; devouring their entire countenance in a singly gulp of its mighty beak,
Don’t just consider them to be a horrendously distorted wire with no electricity; hiding themselves way beneath the mud as the sun came out sweltering from the blazing sky,
And don’t just consider them to be without a meaning or value in this colossal world; selling at the most threadbare rates in the contemporary market,
For all they needed was just a tiny bellow of air; an incomprehensibly frigid rubbing against abraded stone; and then my small box of matchsticks, had the prowess to char blissful territories into veritable graveyards; laugh to their hearts content; as the so called planet which had once ridiculed them; was now nothing but a ball
of diabolically rising flames.
6. WALKING STICK
He held me solidly in his egalitarian palms; sometimes making me almost strangulate for mouthfuls of inevitable breath,
He caressed me every now and then on the cold ground; let beads of his passionate sweat dribble down my persona with nonchalant ease,
He raised me in exuberance towards the glittering blanket of stars; incessantly narrating mystical tales of this Universe to the flurry of innocuous children,
He dug inconspicuous holes with my mouth trudging soft soil; embossing intriguing shapes in the mud to amuse the dormant compartments of his weary mind,
He danced with tears of euphoria pouring down his cheeks; waving me in placid sheets of air; as he nostalgically reminisced the days when he was a cheeky child,
He banged me boundless number of times in ghastly darkness; endeavoring his best to gain an upper hand over the diabolically satanic night,
He flamboyantly marched clutching me with authority to his wrinkled fingers; attending to the battalion of alien delegates with astronomically stoical ease and
inherent charm,
He polished me ardently with the most stupendous quality of wax; painted me in a festoon of vivaciously gaudy color to match his every dress,
He starved me to unprecedented limits; with the only meal that I saliently cherished being the compassionate bellow of warmth imparted by his magical hands,
He swung me violently in all directions when attacked; defending his divinely countenance with the formidable tenacity in my body,
He fidgeted indefatigably with my nose; cuddling and scratching me rampantly when confronted with disdainful bouts of perpetual boredom,
He kept me bereft of the tiniest of cloth; left me shivering with the austere winds slapping me ruthlessly at all quarters; as he silently snored in his afternoon nap,
He occasionally placed me over his colossal ocean of personal belongings; which had taken an entire lifetime for him to perseveringly amass,
He inverted my body every now and again; mischievously smiling with his lips outstretched; as I insatiably cried to once again come back up,
He sometimes inadvertently forgot to carry me; but soon realized my overwhelming importance; as fate made him stumble down on every unveiling step,
He carried me on his head time and again to replicate a circus clown; propel all in vicinity to thunderously laugh till they fell in dreary exhaustion,
He many a moment called me by the names he adored; kissing me gently on my nape as people around him had long gone,
He grasped me the first thing as he awoke at the crack of ethereal dawn; even before he advanced on his journey to the rustic lavatory,
My master was a complete hundred years of age; and for him I wasn’t just a mere walking stick ; but a thing he kept close to his dwindling chest all day and night; an object he considered the most cherished to his everlastingly youthful heart; a sword that would protect him from the uncouth world; just as he was
about to utter his last shout.
7. ACCEPT ME
Accept me for my candid perceptions; the heart that still palpitated more passionately in my chest than the most tumultuous of thunderstorm,
Accept me for my diminutive stature; the unflinching ability with which I could still face the most threatening of disaster,
Accept me for my incongruously bearded cheeks; the crispness in my voice that still had the power to pacify hordes of; overwhelmingly agitated masses,
Accept me for my flurry of profusely lazy habits; the alacrity with which my mind still functioned after midnight,
Over and above all; accept me for what I was and not what I couldn't be.
Accept me for my ugly contoured face; the exorbitant charisma that still flowed uninhibitedly in each of my tear drop,
Accept me for my insurmountably penurious disposition; the richness that still circumvented my conscience which was greater than any living being on this earth,
Accept me for my disastrously broken leg; the Herculean power that still encapsulated my palms; with which I could take on the mantle of this entire
Universe,
Accept me for my disdainfully deafening snoring; the unsurpassable compassion I still generated by indefatigably fantasizing about you all throughout the night,
Over and above all; accept me for what I was and not what I couldn't be.
Accept me for my pathetically fading vision; the unfathomable sense or perception that still reigned supreme; triggering me to see even better than those having complete sight,
Accept me for my inherent virtue of speaking the irrefutable truth; the incomprehensible tenacity I still possessed to face the aftermath of violent death,
Accept me for my unrelenting faith in God; the religion of humanity I still propagated in each continent and free space sprawled over this earth,
Accept me for not bathing scrupulously at the unveiling of ethereal dawn; the holistic purity that still enveloped my mind; body and soul; to make the world a paradise to live,
Over and above all; accept me for what I was and not what I couldn't be.
Accept me for utterly outlandish set of ideals I stringently adhered too; the virtue of benevolence which still reigned stupendously supreme in my animate countenance,
Accept me for defying the conventionally monotonous society; the twin meals of bread and butter I still earned; in order to blissfully suffice me and my adorable family,
Accept me for choosing the road which was the darkest and the most obsolete; the optimistic beams of hope I still conjured; as I emerged out victorious from the tunnel of despair,
Accept me for staring relentlessly towards the carpet of blue sky; the resplendent festoon of stars that I still got on earth; to majestically illuminate its every enchanting night,
Over and above all; accept me for what I was and not what I couldn't be.
8. REALIZATION
Concentration gives you the power to dynamically leap forward; solve the most inexplicable enigma of monotonous life,
Frustration renders you with an utter helplessness; which you find difficult to shrug off despite the most Herculean of your attempts to fight against time,
Sedation makes you blissfully sleep and insurmountably fantasize; making you overwhelmingly oblivious to the most stringent of your surroundings; the instant you
