(22)

So far I’ve been loved, in spite of who I am;
Undeserving of grace, I’ve had charity love thereof.
But you are strange. You love me for who I am?
My suspicious mind poisons your precious love.

Trust

Sometimes my shoulders ache
from the sheer effort
of guarding each precious drop
in my cupped hands.

Drink from me, you shall not thirst again.

Simple

“I’m a simple guy”, he claims.
What he means is,
my madness delights and scares
him in equal measures.

Sight

What do you see between my words?

Observe how the ink smudges with anguish.
Letters of his name, on which yearning twines around.

Or can you see beyond that? Can you see Rage?

Cato

We started off normally enough, Cato the pet
played his role to perfection, he had even let
me pet him, made me feel all masterly and lordly
I was pleased with this arrangement – what a folly!
For soon, things changed, I became the pet, he the master
I was charmed - I couldn’t, if I tried, grow any fonder.

Into my soiled bachelor pad, some order
was wrought from fashionable disorder.
Cato was finicky and manically clean
He dined in style. Red meat, yes please, but only lean.
Chop it up with chicken liver and red cabbage
Sparkling water in Cato’s Bowl, for beverage.

Approval

I’m finally done
shoveling truckloads
into the gluttonous woman’s wide open mouth.
She's still hungry. She’s always hungry.
I don’t care anymore.

She will have to eat her own flesh.
And discover
that she wasn’t really hungry after all.

Legacy

Who gave me this belief
that I take up precious space on earth?
That I must tread softly, that my feet must not trample even soil,
which being lifeless, makes demands that I, the living, obey.

Who gave me this fear
this timidity that crawls along my spine?
To flex it like a bowstring
at the very sight of other humans.

Father, why did you teach me
that I must fear the dark and all those that lurk in the dark?
Why did you make me responsible
for the sewage that runs through their veins?

Mother, why did you tell me
that my head must be bowed
and my happiness must be the lenity
that I so earn, serving my Masters.

What legacy is this, Elahi!
Like a rodent with bloodshot eyes
it gnaws at the hoarded grains of bravery
turning me inside out.

Rebuild

This fevered brow seems to be the resting place
for all the nightmares that you have unleashed.
What would I have to do now to erase
the memory of you plunging into my wretched
heart, a blunt dagger called betrayal.
Give me back my trust, at the very least, give me denial.

Cato, (My) (A) The Cat

Cato was very much an ordinary cat
who reclined royally on my welcome mat.
No, he wasn’t one of those portly Siamese
with all fur and no brains, none of that for me, please.
Nothing remarkable about his pointy face -
Just a scruffy cat, not one you’d want to embrace.

Cato had just one name, not three, as far as I know
But I could be wrong, as I’ve been before, you know.
I suspect he was eminently capable
of carrying off an effable, effenineffable,
deep and inscrutable singular name, just as
any old poet’s cat, but I dared not ask.

Cato had permitted me just to listen
and chronicle his adventures, wielding my pen.
I was allowed some pertinent questions; the rule
said pertinent, mind, not personal. He was no fool.
Therefore I wasn’t privy to his singular name.
It was a closely guarded secret – what a shame!

PMS

Questioning, pondering, wondering – trivialized as “PMS LOL?
Been with a lot of women, so know all about moodswings”
Go fuck your tiny brain, retard
Hormones
Why are men uncomfortable with menstruation
Why are women uncomfortable with menstruation
Catholics
Catechism, blood on skirts, don’t talk about it
Kept under wraps because coming of age was at 12 rather than 14 of previous generation
Celebration because she is ready to be impregnated?
Announce to the world that the womb is ready to be seeded
Legs to be spread only to the one chosen (by family, society, rules, world)
Pseudo liberated chauvinists
Men pseudo sympathetic to feminism - Why would a species/group recognised/accepted as higher/better willingly step down? Makes no sense. Yet pretend – to understand (PMS) condescend, patronise.
Feminists aren’t humanists, but then retards wouldn’t know.
Questions that can’t be answered, spirit that can’t be quelled, anguish of the soul – attributed to PMS
Go fuck yourself, you retard

Bible

Beautiful language.
Apocryphal.
Scary shit.
Intention to scare.
Distorted story
of a man named Jesus
who lived some years ago,
I fell in love with
some years ago.
I am Magdalene.
Where are your stones?

(21)

When you're around, a giant smiley called Glee
makes its appearance, to seduce and woo.
Glee is a fickle friend who visits me
only with you; when you leave, he bids adieu too.

i dream nonsense

Your name is poetry.
Your name is my song.
Sing it at my funeral.

(20)

You came, to give me music. That’s why you came.
I fell in selfish love; I hoped you’d stay.
You came with my music, you bore his name.
I should have known. Angels cannot stay.

Why

Why
in fuck’s name
can I not write about
pizzas
and gooey cheese
and chilli flakes
and sugar
and money
and honey
and home
and children
and recipes
and schools
or even the yellow white round faced moon
that shyly peeked through potted bamboo
while I was stuffing my face with French Fries.

Why the fuck must I think breathe write -
You.

Dead Poem

I should have written that poem for you
Yesterday.
When words were floating inside my eyes;
when every thought ended with

“Him

the one

with music in his fingers

the one

who brought manna from heaven”

and so on and so forth.
Absolute mush, but then you know me -
I am no different from the rest of them
when it comes to love. I am just a fool.
Just like the rest of them.

Heavens! There is no sadness anymore.
This assertion is not like the ones I’ve made before.
There is not even an empty space
where thoughts bounce around
and by the lack of resistance,
demonstrate to self that
it indeed is hollow.

There is nothing.
Finally, I understand the concept that ‘nothing’ is also matter.
Dark Matter. Anti-matter. I should have been a scientist.
Mad scientist. What fun!
Strange, isn’t it, how some things are clearer during adversity
when the brain is shot with the fog of numbness.

I should have written that poem for you
Yesterday
I thought it was beautiful
Mush it was, yes, but then you know me
I am just a fool when it comes to you.

I have no poems anymore
Let Go. I have.
The poem has died.
Beautiful dead
Things beautiful dead
Don’t you see the vultures already
Can’t you hear their curses already
They wish me further betrayals
They eat corpses, they curse.

Let me just fucking die.

Bait

If baits are cast
with disgust
Would the fish
not bite?

I Eat My Bitter Heart

I eat my bitter heart, black coal
with tar blood which seals the lip of a wound
that splays my ribcage open.

This curse repeats, a never ending play
of bleeding shadows, puppet show
to entertain minions
of Satan.

Oh Darkness, mother, embrace my bitter heart;
touch my frail soul that begs for your mercy alone.

My bitter heart, is a toy,
is a toy, for some
for some minions
of Satan and of God.
And for all humans.

Oh Darkness, my friend, embrace my fearful heart.
This frail soul begs for your mercy alone.

What nightmares did you sow in my mind
O Jesus
that the brooding canopies of its lush growth
shut out the merest speck of light.

Darkness, kind stranger, put your arms around my frail body
Close my eyes with cold palms
I beg for your mercy alone.

move on

how do i move on
from love?
what do i move towards
when i move away
from Love?

(19)

Of the lot many things that make me blush;
one is a secret in my heart of hearts -
that in your mouth, like a darkling thrush,
have sung, several of my body parts.