pangs, pathos and vodka shots

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its a dull and gloomy friday evening,

the sky is grey above and the clouds are brewing along,

with winds blowing slightly harder.

With lovely undulating pony tailed brown hairs, fair face,

dressed in a tight tee and jacket ,

she is quickly getting down the stairs with a tired head.

Seems like she is slightly out of sorts, her dull face

Suggests her inner tiredness, perhaps the recent  lack of her beau’s

connection could be the reason indeed, not a single call

in a fortnight’s time, no messages nor pokes or chats.

She is moving swiftly by the trees

unusually noticing its close line up

and the dark black barks so hard, so ridged,

standing tall alongside in this hazy dusk,

in her way to parking lot to catch up another mate,

and get a drive back home or might even think about a pub around.

 

Stuck in the midway by something,  startled a bit 

and taking a couple of quicker strides,

she looks harder at that black car

to get a clearer sight and ends up slowing down

getting hold of a tree’s bark.  

trapped by the mood’s pathos may be,

as she sees her beau pulling in another girl

kissing by the window, she gets down slowly

by the tree and sits there leaning on the bark

preoccupied with all tangled thoughts inside.

She is muddled inside with a unclear mind

and mildly creeping in pangs of void,

that seems to hauntingly slither her insides

slow and quiet.

it dwelves in her insides like the thin crawling

worms of voidic black that might

seem to subtly seize her whole,

 as the claws of octopus which could

swiftly strech it arm to clench and grasp,

clasping it in no time all of a sudden,

spreading its worms of void all around

creeping and crawling.

 

She is equally taken in by the mood’s pathos,

swinging in mildly, pulling her low and dull,

while trying to reflect her birdie blues.

 

Its is dark all around and the place is

almost deserted with only her

musing by the tree and sulking under it,

and none else to be seen in the sight around.

a muse of a lone lady, sad and dull,

as she tries to gather herself

out of her mood’s blue hues.

Being haunted by the pathos and pangs,

she is almost hovering around in the rain literally,

lost in her blues, mired by her thoughts

and creeping in fear,

along with the mundane’s weariness.

She reaches her apartment late and feels like

her drive back home has taken thrice its usual time

while dragging her ride so slow in lapse,

over and over in the whirls of turns  around the blocks,

spinning and spinning in whirls and turns of daze,

stretching her ride in her mind’s maze,

inside her intoxicated sulking  mind

inside her spinning head,

post their stop by in a local pub and 

owing to the vodka shots’ aftermath.

 

She stands in front of her room’s  mirror

Keeping herself apathetic to her pathos,

under the flickering light that is yet to be replaced,

its light its dark in a flash, its light its dark,

its light, its dark it flickers sporadically,

she observes herself so indifferently.

She tries to pour another shot of vodka

from the bottle of absolut in her table,

but ends up breaking the glass dropping it down.

She takes a shot directly from the bottle.

on a spinning high she is,

stoned and apathetic.

reluctantly she moves to the balcony

to get some different air,

to get some other feeling,

to get some different light,

to get some other noise or blare to the least.

 

Standing in the balcony,

She gets that different feeling

Of the open outside.

Sees all the lights from the

road’s cabs and vehicles,

the beam and the glare.

Slowly closing her eyes

hears its sound, its noise

and the blare.

She feels the outside air.

She feels the outside.

Its wee hours of the midnight,

Thirty passed two.

She is still awake lying in the floor,

hazy and high,

as another shot of vodka gets in.

her mobile plays charlie’s,

we don’t talk anymore.

intoxication is helping her in keeping herself off

from the present pangs and pathos.

the stoned she feels the silence of the night   

standing in the terrace floor,

while her inside space’s light

still goes on and off flickering,

light and dark, flashing on and off.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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a kissing reverie ..

 

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such thick black lovely brows stands beneath her beautiful dark eyes.
these are the eyes that tend to flight the spectre of love upon every man it sees.
The spectre of love that pulls anyone inside her hypnotic beauty,
gathering one to her realm of charm and lure,
binding one into a infatuated gleamy continuum of enticing pulchritude,
which might seemingly tend to immerse him inside her gleaming gel of bait.
The diva’s spectre might even arouse and mesmerize one alluring him to her enchanted aura.
Beside her window glasses with a cup of coffee and a book from danielle steel,
She seems to be on a muse looking through the window glass with the beautiful pouring silent rain.
The lovely daylight drizzle through the closed glass doors sans the sound of it.
Drawn in by the scintillating scene of the mood’s medley and tired of her routine,
She seems to be on a muse looking at the sizzling rain outside,
trying to converge her insides may be,
perhaps a trance they might call it sometimes.

May be she is trying to weave her threads of desires and passion
upon her delusional tapestry,
Should be playing inside her tunes of love,
that yodels inside her strings of longing and yearn
while painting her mind’s awe,
its love and fervour,
the girlie desires and
the passion behind,
its mellifluous floral blooms
of the daydream magnolia,
shading its colors in undulating fragments
of lure and lustre,
hazily picturing inside her
woven tapestry of a lady’s muse,
like a starry rain,
like a song of love,
inside her melancholic reverie.

She is immersed inside
in the soothing river of
a daydream delusion,
in the pleasasnt warmth
of a lady’s muse and
in its underlying solitary melodrama,
floating inside her kissing reverie.
.

a surreal night’s sextain ..

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such a flawless skin so fair and white,

her long dishevelled hair undulating

in the zephyr around,

raising the mood and the desires

of the loner moon’s midnight,

such beautiful curves of the femme fatale

call’s aphrodite arousing,

while you kiss and caress

those lovely breasts that oozes out the milk

of the feminine floral springs

seducing you to the sensual 

embrace of soothing warmth,  

the feminine sensual intimacy

behind the erotica angels’ coalesced ritual

amongst those seducing incandescent magnolia,

the sacrament’s glowing  fervour inducing the amour,

alongside those iridescent flora

that would perhaps even arouse folks

to gleaming blithe of the lewdland’s forgotten erotica,

the wee hours’ sensual apparition is so queer

glooming the space around like that murky haze

of the morning fog immersing the loner moon

in a marvellous rivulet,

converging the lucency of love

that is glazing in her moonlight serenade,

unravelling the song of seduction

with interludes of deeply intimate aria,

the lyric of lust, the sextain and the mood behind

the lambent moonlight dip,

hovering around in her intimacy’s lustre,

the slit of his blade as the dipping blood

kissing the moon satiating her darker secrets beneath,

the slithering red lanes of splatter

sliding down her maroon orgy,

underneath the blood kissed moon so white,

so wild is her surreal night’s crimson fulgere

soaked in his blade’s lucency,

as the spirit of casanova glades by the loner moon’s aria.

walking endless ..

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Seems a lady lost in love,
amidst her sad floating thoughts
on love and longing, with aching feelings
from the insides of her heart,
looking for the way that seems so unclear
with the road that she has to travel
on lying in a pretty much out of bounds vicinity, walking over a clueless track,
a aimless wander into the vast desert
of forsaken love with no spot of tenderness,
with a sad and dull mind and loads of pain
burdened over a broken heart thats been trying
to hold over her beautifully framed up blissful love engraved from her times
while she had been framing up her fairy tale romance, dreaming about her merry love
for the eternal ever after,
seems all those dreams of ardent passion
and beautiful days of love
woven from the inner core of her heart
have been shattered even before
she tried to convey her love,
perhaps the stint here could be
she would’nt have been in a slightest of an idea
about her lover’s girlfriend, until a while ago.

Fate some times plays a cruel game
of unangelic tricks trying to collapse the plot
and shattering the dreams of a person
totally to a solo aimless wander
of woeing pathos getting its tune
from the mind’s distinct little space
oozing out from a pretty lower voice of aches
and its deeply sad lyrics
of a ode over a love
over a heartfelt longing
over a dreams of years,
trying to reminisce the frames of the times,
when she was actually painting all those dreams inside her head with flying colors,
while she had been building over her fortress of love and joy on the man of her dreams,
and while she’d been sculpting her days of future
with her man’s embrace from the clay of her heart.

Seems the wrecked-she is in search
of a solace least to a little bit,
in that vast wilderness of desert so void and dark,
so hot and burning,
just like the brutal fate that stashed away
all her dreams passion and love,
playing the evil hand anti-scripting her fairytale
to a endless story,
stealing away her man,
destructing her beautifully dreamed up fortress
of heaven, and stashing out her destiny itself. Perhaps, the lady in red,
walking over the waves of heat with stolid face
and devastated head,
and over her inside emptiness
of desert sand’s burns,
sadly seems to be living soulless … seems to be breathing lifeless … seems to be walking endless …

 

 

 

the magical lambent light of virgin moon ..

 

its a starry night with the lovely white gleam  

and such beautiful glades of the white lucency

that is dipping the night in a scintillating mood

of lute and romance.

the ride over the country side  highway

while playing the sinatra’s jazz

as it goes like ‘ fly me to the moon,

let me play among the stars … ‘,

swings up the mates to a ethereal very moon glide.

 

a lovely girl of eighteen with long curly hairs

looking petite and pale,

is all excited  and brimming perhaps

in their  first date.

with a sexy exposing black top

and a short skirt, revealing her skin’s lustre,

that would turn her mate on and wild,

she has removed her jacket off,

trying to imitate her cozy neighbour

drawn by her ways and attitude.

driving his dad’s car, the cool dude

is so sturdy and macho in a sleeve less tee and shorts,

as if like a pro in stalking.

her charm and his charisma,

alluring to each other just as their mood,

magic and the moonlight.

they are riding along on a  weekend getaway,

in this long straight highway

amidst the prevailing magic, music  

and the moonlit refulgence.

 

the almost desolated road with none else

in the drive along this stretch taking them

beside en route  a lovely song of lavender, 

raising the scent around the glistening air

of countless silver scintillas,

that oozes out the fulgere of such enthralling romance,

that gushes out the music and song

behind the scene’s glitz and glam.

the gleaming moonlight through the window

glistens her face with the white

and sheen of the moon river,

that streaming down rays descending

into their space in subtle lambency

and in sensual flow of lustre and love,

gliding them up onto a milder arousal flight

to the lusty moon river of scintillas and sparkles

and they shine in diamond sheen each and every one of them,

those miniature lozenges of the moon fragment,

those tiny crescents of scintillating chemistry,

and the minuscule starry specks

of love libidos, the glitzy daze,

of such sizzling romance

and the hayday gay of young inside’s merriment

over their first date make out,

as they smooch and cuddle lovingly

under the shinning silverlight glittering

in enchanted blithe mirrored by those refulgent eyes,

as they intertwine fondly revelling in the moonlight kiss,

while the gutsy lad with his kissing babe says ,

’ love you to the moon and back… ‘,

under the magical lambent light

of the virgin moon’s celestial beauty.

 

the light of love ..

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white represents the purest of colors,

the paint of holistic purity that blends

the archaic frame of light and haven,

that realizes the accord in the canvas

of wholesome effulgence,

the primeval source of vastness, dwelling

and the plethora around,

the nature’s affluence of flora and fauna,

the vast spread of land and waters

that brings forth man’s needs and wants,

that satiates his necessities, welfare and well being under the sky.

the white luminance of light, its lumens of energy in the continuum,

immerses us in day moving us out of darkness,

differentiating the night from day,

the darkness from light,

the black from white.

 

The colour radiates us with cognizance of deeper contemplations,

being an elemental spot of mind’s concentration and prolonged focus,

like the multitude patterns in the cloud of white

and its implicit  divulging interpretations,

the correlated radiation substantially

evokes the higher seat of wisdom, the care of mother nature,

 and the pristine holy love.

It symbolizes the clarity of vision and perception

in conceiving an idea or a notion

to a resolute accord and a reaffirming accede,

to a unstained congruent opine

of flawless flow and oration.

 

The ruthless prowling streaks of hatred, wrath and anger,

trying to disrupt the sturdy bounds of love, amity and accord,

with the creeping in madness of evil and rage,

frightens masses and destructing welfare,

in the midst of  chaos, insecurity  and the air of unease,

dislodging harmony and concord in the nations.

Attacks of terror and nuclear weapons of  mass destruction,

people losing faith and screaming wretched,

bombing and hijacking,

folks losing hope and crying in agony,

nations under war sans accord,

sans love and peace,

amidst tension and tremors,

amidst hatred and enmity,

with violence everywhere and people looking to destruct

and stain themselves in havoc and hurt.

The pastels of agitating strides inside

and the devastating scenes of bloodshed and gore,

crime and aversions,

blacks the society today in hurt and disdain,

disheartening masses in pain and wane,

deeply questioning their morale and integrity.

 

Folks among us young and valorous,

the bold people of immense potential and vitalising traits,

the world’s light,

 should stride inside to exterminate society’s illness and malady,

should plunge inside to eradicate threats and other malaises,

that creeps us low in savage and derangement,

have to reinstate accord and reinforce stability,

subsiding tension across border lines

and to regroup people in peace harmony and love.

folks among us young, brimming and daring,

the people of high morale and with ardent lustre,  

the world’s light,

should reform the nation,

rebuild it and converge the radiance

of peace and the light of love.

 

The shade of the white and light in the artistry,

penetrates deep inside the minds glowing one’s vital virtues,

inspiring a persona to arise and fly

with the white feathers of phenomenal glide,

fervent ardour and reviving amour.

It diverges holy from the unholy and its ugly incarcerations,

the angles from evil,

and the good from bad.

It converges the spirit of liberation

with the essence of love, peace and free will.

 It glistens one’s inner self,

his inherent beauty,

his innate glow,

resuscitating life and armour,

it enlightens a persona  

with blooms of white and leaves of olive,

amongst which the lovely dove

carried one back to the holy ark

ages back in another era.