Endless Tirades

walking through the silvery streets
where the silhouette are common
and riles so deep
the trash and the thrashing of the random cat
a seldom bark and the beggars sniff
the dark alleys
and drunken whores
The stink of dried blood and
vestiges of puke

What am I doing?
Here
dressed in my satin and lace
These are people
real good and bad
where I : a mere caricature
can find no space

the muck and the ruckus
all in a spate
life is a brazen date
an endless tirade
 

To the good times

 

Drink away

To the merry times of the juvenile

Yore..

When the head was young

And heart not sore!

 

 

Man near say “fie”

Let demons die

And angels cry.

 

When the riley firebrand tames

Not a vestige

Not a garland to shame

To the loathing, of

The dioramic head!

Merry be ye;

Oh lonesome firebrand

A challis to your dreams

Cheers ! Me thinks...

Music For Me

I am a diffident fool
They say!
I cannot sing
For my voice is of a croaking mule.
I cannot in my memory rewind
The lyrics of the best sung songs

I care not..no more...
I want to remember lyrics no more..
for the wind that shakes the maize
is music in its ruffle,
for the sand that churns in the air..
And the ibis that flips...

to the screeching stillness of the
punctured tyres!
To the Cold wind that cuts across the ear
There is music..
which I hear...
too the lisping of the fishes in the sea

there is music in the harp..the lute and the cello
and also in the baritone mellow
that I see with the closing of my eyes
the silence and the stillness is music to me

The craving lullaby..or the blaring of the horns..
Are all the myriad music for thee..
Are music for Me.