I have a secret treasure,

Wearing a guitar,

Dancing on drums,

She comes…

Gnaws and growls,

Cries fair is foul,

She smiles..

Bites her lips,

Tears them apart,( I love them so)

She kisses..

Smudge your kohl,

Lose your mole,

She hides..

This is my shy creature.

Did you notice that?
I can now sprout hands myself,
And cast the iron stand for myself,
I don’t need you anymore,
I can laugh at my own cast,
And cry at your door.

I have taken my own dirty flight,
With my dirty wings and with my might,
Dance away my own little hopping plight.

You have let the dog on me,
I am not going to bitch,
I can now sprout my hands myself,
And I can get to hitch,
With your dirty itch.

I don’t need you anymore,
I can laugh at my own cast,
And cry at your door.

Wet jeans and green salad-II

It began with a burp,

Your eyes noticed the glance

The burp with its tentacles,

Your ears did they carress....

Oh, how you loved my ugliness!!

The saddest piece of show.

And the lampoon of the burp,I realised

It was the wet jeans,

with its wet hands,

with its sooty legs,

with its hairy fangs;

it could have been mine..

My beacon

I have no reason beyond faith,
and faith beyond reason.
To give me the beacon...
Would be to watch in horror
How I gobble it up!!
in muke protest.....
To make you realise that,
a beacon earned is a beacon lost
I will give you mine,
to humbly obey.

WET JEANS AND GREEN SALAD

My wet jeans
My green salad..
Are mine!!
The ooze
The booze
Are not mine!!
The slut
The pink pussy
Are ours!!

I like you,
The chiseled prince…
The way you wait at the highways,
Stare at my booty
My bags full of marooned jeans..
And the castrated jewels
Of highway queens…

I speak to the millions…
In a minion of idioms,
In the marriage drums,
And carriage crumbs,
And the nudist bums,
I speak to the dungeons,
In a valley of titans,
Of aerial gallows,
And ducking shallows….
I speak to you…Death and the “you”.