Ants

Ants march on my arms, I smell flood.


The anarchy of clouds and my ambitious neighbor drown our season’s harvest,

just as it did last year.

We look anorexic. 

The contour of our body blurs,

taking hours to recall the face to match the voice.

A narrow opening in the jammed window

Bring in air to breathe, to allure, demure and becomes a plague.

We emaciate, vaporize from tactile responses

To images, memories, fantasies.

A shadow casts itself in the mirror

Stares back at us to scare

And you pretend not to see.

Free Fall from Bliss

A free fall from bliss

To the depths of misery,

Trails through a chasm of doubt, ingratitude and anger,

sinners pass without regret,

Invincible and without wound,

between the warring trenches of argument,

beheaded corpses of cupid, pickled fetus in jars .

Summon Israfil for a nuclear holocaust,    

A mushroom cloud is hanging over our smoking pipes.

Breathe in and multiply in millions

As white blood cells, crabs, leeches -

in your stomach, crotch, tongue and ears.  

Swallow the bullets, they grow back as words,

The tantrums are just foreplay,

before the killing spree begins in the next anatomy class.

The formalin smells great, scalpels ready for action,   

The incisions would be perfect, sewn back to just as it was

Only a couple of organs missing you never had any use for.   

The anesthetic is trickling down fast,

Go to sleep now, you’ll be spared the pain. 

May 01, 2011

Peking Duck

My idle wings carry just enough weight

To land in your arms – once.

They wait for years without.

I love water, they slide right through my feathers

Small planktons, fish and snails to feed on

Little dips, smooth sailing,

Cacophonies of meaningless laughter.

My guiltless fat crackles in fire

Ending up in gourmet dining

With your drools all over.

The last thing I remember

In rows hanging upside down

Masks and aprons up since dawn.

Knives sliding down throats dripping blood,

Skinned to perfection,

Roasted tender, sweetened in sauce.

I’ll be up for specials

Prepared in hands of chefs taking years to master

Displayed in hooks bare naked

To allure hungry diners.

My redemption is your indulgence

Your acid consumes mine

I begin to transform and exist-

In your marrow, flesh, blood and bile.

March 25, 2011

Boss Indica

As we speak the dawn appears

Bats close their wings

Cockroaches creep between furniture gaps

And poetry disappears.

We have office hours, meetings, clients, papers, documents, Xerox machines,

Our  whining, complaining, bullying bosses

Relying, cheating, scheming, selling - you, me and everything.

I stare at your lies

You look away confused trying out new weapons.  

Your Black Dog smells my age, where’s my cage?

I throw back at you my rage,

Drink is good only with friends.

I don’t need company, only business.

No yelling bosses or meek sly assistants.

You tear my soul down

Keep me awake in blinding days

I need to wake with bats, creepy cockroaches.

Let me keep my knights

Loose all these mercenaries

And welcome you my dizzy heights

In poetry with ruffled hairs.

January 31, 2011

Go Away Forever

Go away forever, Love.

Don’t give me hopes

I’m going back to my world.

It’s hard to say goodbye every five years,

As bad as watching my five year old 

dying on me while I live on.

I can’t let go of her old photographs,

Boxes full of memory and her little socks.

Cockroaches make themselves at home

With love letters,

Followed by spiders and lizards in search of food.

They move from one address to the next,

With closet full of out of fashion clothes,

Books and words of wisdom occupying wall space,

Growing as old as mother’s classic jewelry

In fashion again and again.   

And as proud as I feel they belong to me now

One winter at midnight,

I invite myself at a burial ceremony

Under blankets on a frozen bed with a hot cup of tea,

Music on the background,

No intention of getting up early,

Chocolates and snacks unlimited for free.

A phone call interrupts,

I'm back again to that memory lane,

Another crawl and fight on the way up

To see and believe it’s no longer there.

The dead remains unburied,

Food for vultures, hyenas, rats, slimy bugs, cockroaches, spiders, lizards.

It  gets better everyday.

Phone calls distract less.

The body parts are dismembered with help from the scavengers,

They are buried each day

One at a time, 

I'll get them all soon

Until they never grow back.

Don’t pick up my calls.

If you won’t live with me

Don’t love me back.

I’ll be fine in my world.  

January 13, 2011

Unsalted and Pan Fried Butter

You were melting like butter on a fry pan on fire,

Turning a fillet crisp seasoned in pepper and salt

I couldn’t resist a bite, knowing I have

Layers on my tummy and block in the heart.

I am risking Diabetes with your sugar sweet words,

I should run, burn, drink bitter to calm down,

My sleepless nights ruins my day

They are still my most favorite hours.

My kisses are death, what I touch dies

Death becomes me, I become her.

There’s no delight in mourning,

A kill is as good as life

If you know how to live from ruins

And practiced with masters in this art .

Lies help you live,

False hopes survive,

Gods never show up

We don’t live to see prayers answered.

I turned my back against him long time ago

And let me tell you he is not least bothered.  

You sulk and sulk in buckets of tears

It’s good for eyes sometimes

You don’t expect some friends to get you

Their insecurity irritates and makes you laugh.  

Words are like arrows

Once thrown can’t be held back

It’s good to have some armors ready

Just in case, one comes around to make you worry.

If you’re here to make me feel bad

Be aware my deadly words strike hard,

You’d gasp for breathe to rid of nightmares

And a sum of all the wraths of my curse.

You’d melt like soft butter under my gentle warm knife

Ending up as breakfast with bread, jam, jelly, honey, sugar  

Beware my dear, what you are getting into

You'd be scared shit,  I'll be watching for fun the horror. 

January 11, 2011

Meeting an Old Friend

We are too honest to talk of things

Other than what they are,

You’ll feel a bit embarrassed but I don’t care.

We used to say we’ll meet years later

As kids we were then,

With bald spots on head

And tires round our waist.

We lost touch at one point, we both know why we left.

It’s never too late to catch-up, if you feel the same.

You do brand promotions, qualify as good parent,

I stay single( I call independent) disqualified from marriage market.

There is too much Heineken and hangovers on the weekends,

I crave for conversation and sweets as always instead.

How many more years do you think we’ll be spared?

I never imagined seeing you this old at 30 years of age.

I tell you, stop talking of the past you’d never live again

The disease you have is you wanted things too early,

Not knowing what they meant.

It is good not to have things too soon

You know there is a price for every achievement.

I protect myself away from peer pressure and rat race,

Thinking I’m different from the rest.

Doesn’t help anyway,

No pats on the back, someone saying that’s ok.

Let’s bitch together about life and everyone we hate

Pretentious and all too fake face lifts of facebook friends.

Affairs, adventures, promotions, next holiday getaway,

Getting over brainfucks and our poor defense.

Dinner and booze would be great, if they come from your fat cheque.

I will offer bed and breakfast at my place, the same address – my parents’.

We’ll stay-up all night, laugh until we pee in our pants,

There couldn’t have been a better time and place for a get together again.

Have you wondered why all on a sudden I rhyme too much these days,

Wait till I tell you, you can try doing the same.

January 09, 2011