Schoolboys

Framing schoolboys in a mindscape
is a delicious thing to do
but the stench of uniformity
is bereft- for how do you
array the different colours
from skin to wear unless
you denude them all.

And then one has to deal
with the sizes- to see who
has the biggest ego
that will make them fall.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 11:01 pm

  Malice

The night cradles her to sleep
but his poems that speak only
au revoir invade her dreams;

wrap around her heart
like eloquent tentacles-

mangling and twisting these
sinews until the fabrics rip
to reveal the festering wound
beneath-

making her
more human than she
already is.

And she jolts awake
grinning at her schemes to come.



cuRRent...jer  ¶ 3:00 am

  Should

I should be starving with the kids in Africa
dying with the millions infected by HIV-
not serving the army in December.
But passions come and go;
a dilettante gliding by winds
through life's seas and storms.

I should be a piece of cannon fodder
shortchanged like the victims of EM3-
not serving the nation as a father.
But life is fierce as it seems;
I am not ready to live.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:20 am

  4am

they say youth is wasted on the young-

that i become
driven in thought
at ungodly hours,
to think no more
the clockwork's
momentum as
my heavy breaths:

but of my vernal crimes and passion
that have long been washed away;
that i only want to be
an old soul in a young body.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 1:09 am

  3am

This is a paroxysm of emotions I cannot bear.
Like a blast furnace and spasms of molten steel.
It is Consternation of the mind- a romantic's tribulation
before the Land of Nod.

But the road there is never calm
But the road there is never calm.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 12:10 am

  2am

vacant eyes stare at. stars twinkling, juxtaposed against the smuggish air-
barely moving.

but sounds, they accost like hornets
in the bonnet; the
quiescent night shattered
by the rebarbative (pre-coital) calls
of crickets and the tick-
tock droplets from the
midnight rain
till the voice
of consciousness come
trickling in from
oblivion.

Then a plane crashesintothe starscolliding;frictionburning- a swelteringexplosion of sorts as torrid rain splashed across the skies
obliterating staidnessand decibels shooting
hoopsthatyoucan'tseemtohearyourselfnomore.




cuRRent...jer  ¶ 10:24 pm

  Lethargy

A penchant
to die
would
pervade
his being.

Every
now and
then.

But no.

His fear
kept
him
away.

So
the river
of
life
dithered on.

With he,
like
another
corpse
drifting on.

And when
fishes
nibble

at his
pustulent
hands

he'd be
too dead
to smack
them

anyway.


cuRRent...jer  ¶ 8:44 pm

  Pilgrim
a wag's sonnet

The poet so oft' speak: 'tween him and when
with love defeat'd, that wars once won with words
will n'ver be lost when come'd the pilgrim forth-
Her prize'd be his; a wag's sonnet they'd be.

A wag's sonnet they'd be, nor more nor less,
but their wait's been vanquished- lone vespers in
abeyance ever held. They'd care no more
the vanity of howling, howling failed.

Without a wit, like cuckoos dazed they'd sing-
on grounds they'd fall from trees, cursed to return
the mutual giggle, unadulterat'd.
So, will his real slim pilgrim, please stand up?

But if the while he thought on pilgrims come'd,
all rhymes are restored and his sorrows summed.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 5:10 pm

  Crossroads

You can run a million miles
but you can never run from
crossroads.

Big God shoves us through
anyway- out from a random
route into another; like we
are slipped wailing through
a bloody vagina into the
naughty truths of living.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 3:31 pm

  Beyond

I need to run into the sunset, into those arrulent
hues that melts my heart from palpitating to
dripping caramel at the corner; then grazing
across the hinterland of my mind, a hand
would pick me up and send me soaring
into the sky, with winds sweeping my hair-
and then with a scream of palpable elation

fall onto the devil's trident with a splat,
embracing the life beyond.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 11:41 pm

  Wayang

Wrangling and maiming
a bone too small to chew.

Dogs cannot understand,
nor can they learn to share-
So they snarl at each other
like the subito.

pizzicato of violins
(misplaced the fiddle,
perhaps?)

But we all know
the orchestra and the
anticipated crescendo like
we know every culminating
note. And then we are invited
to do the standing ovation
and wait for the da capo;
then another round
of applause,
here we go.

We are the audience
pushed around in
the perambulator-
a stroll in the park
along the stages
set nowhere
then back home
to deliberate
how we clap our hands
when the next (same)
symphony plays.

cuRRent...jer  ¶ 11:58 pm