Thursday, November 4, 2010

With A Whimper

Those shady bars have for long whispered sweet nothings to my hollow mind
Beckoning like a mistress who knows you well enough to be your mother
And for long I've evaded the question that my friend Thomas had asked,
But the bitch in my memory refuses to die.
The best in me is no longer fit for your consumption and
The worst that I carry rots healthily by the dilapidated sill by your side.
The tragedy that will now unravel like an artsy film is very personal
The fall ,if there was a rise, of a young mind now seems to be in vogue
For mediocrity too has to thrive in this hobgoblin of a world.
Where eunuchs make true love, shimmering with emotion
And men whimper with impotent eyes
Watching the world suck their virility with casual ease,
And worship sexless bodies who like to tease.
Its not for your shocked eyes that I write
But for the bitch in my memory who refuses to die.
To fight the impossible is not my aim
But to sit in the corner and then proclaim in vain,
"My dear sirs, would you like to do me too?"
And then those gentle hands adept at hiding filth
Will descend on me and again with casual ease
Beautifully take the worst out of me.
Be not be mistaken that it is anger my muse
But my friend Thomas who taught me to use
Words and more words to suppress true intent
And mock this idea of a world with clownish ruse.
I always bluff my way into another life
But the bitch in my memory refuses to die.
Under the bedsheets my world lies
Where naked swarms of dreaming delights
Hides carefully the shoddy reality of life
A world where emotional holocausts
Are meted out by one and all
Again my dear sirs with casual ease!
This casual ease is what I have begun to hate
And the good lord cites it as rightfully chaste.
I fear it may bring the end of me
For women come and go with men pinned up to their breasts
Singing sonnets with drunken sniggers
The most delightful whores love could buy
If you thought I'll mince words each time
Then my sirs and lovers
To break the third wall is no crime
My friends, long dead, taught me so
And till the last of my breaths it shall be forever so
Forever and ever till Nightingales shall sing
Men will be condemned for they believed in the gospel of Howl,
For my bitch that refuses to die
I've a message, my darling chocolate pie
Till the memory of you shall remain
My dead friends shall always keep me insane.