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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Thursday, 27 February 2014

It's a shame

We walk this world blind, with eyes gazed high-
stained with piercing pride to see us to fame.

We strive to compete- creating enemies,
instead of bettering ourselves to make ends meet.

We point fingers towards others, painting them red,
instead of noting that treads of our fingers-differ.

We count numbers in class, hoping one day to stack paper,
yet paper is nature and when cut down starts to affect us.

We leave our families, trekking miles looking for frenemies,
yet our backs always stand firm and guarded on our trees.

We poison our souls with envy like devils to a God,
yet we should be exuberant in modesty above all.  

We fight against each other brain washed like barbarians,
yet we can survive and thrive as one nation ask  librarians.

We shame God claiming life magically started with a big bang,
yet with a snap of finger, can go abra cadabra and pull trigger.

In castled houses we're homeless unlike those in card board homes;
earning a coin a day concluding with poverty as their sin to pay.

We like to be bright as colour to seek attention like barking dogs,
ayeh when push calls shove our loud minds turn silent like logs.

We don't trust each other as a team so attain selfish goals,
yet when opportunity is availed, failure points its fingers to all.

We are a team, and as team mates,
ones shame brings shame to another.

Friday, 21 February 2014

Does the rod groom a child?

A father from hell might yell,
because his son didn't make it to Yale.
Ayeh, why raise his rod,
when his son did his best?

You've warned your daughter of fire
but she keeps playing around and with it.
Should  you take out your rod and use it,
Or let the fire give her a free lesson?

A child might be playing in a park,
and as he slides he breaks his hand,
then his furious mother starts to bark,
like the rod is going to fix his hand.

You might use the rod on your daughter,
taming her not to fall for the neighbour,
yet when she matures and becomes older,
the world is filled with fools going to tease her.

When the world is painted red,
and fear is created using our rods-
by whipping children for walking into it,
they'll quiver and fail when it's time to face it.

Parents wield the power of the rod.
power sometimes falls into wrong hands,
and is also often misused and abused,
when emotions aren't sieved from actions,

Far be it from me to tell one how to raise child,
I have none of my own ayeh, If you use your rod,
you might groom your child, yet if you don't,
you create room to influence and give guidance due. 

Arranged love

I did not line my ducks to get you,
they say our star signs were aligned.

I did not know anything about you;
so much for falling in love with a stranger.

At the start your habits made me morbid,
yet I too carry flaws that some consider horrid.

They asked me to find happiness in you,
and at night, I was to sleep and cuddle with you,.

yet you snore all night, it makes me want to fight,
and if that wasn't awkward, we were meant to have kids.

I bestowed my faith into you,
and hoped you wouldn't seek to be worshipped.

I placed my trust in you,
kept praying you would't step all over it.

This was not love at first sight,
it was a gambled set up prone to plight.

I did not choose you,
You are the one I chose to love.

I did not love you,
I just learnt to do so.

Hey, machaa, Wake up!

@11.30, lunch time in great India.
I had wandered off into a temple,
to find truth and do "puja".

The prayer started off intense,
I stared in order to form a bond.
deep in her line of contact,
a glare ahead blurred my view.

"X marks the spot,
and persistence is the sport."
So I kept praying for my spot.

I burnt my incense,
declared what incensed,
and said;"my dear lord Mara,
I seek to love and one to love me"

I fed her, lured her,
as I chanted,
"Mara, oh Mara"

My forehead marked in tilaka,
lead my way like a chakra.
The incense in our presence was enticing,
the flowers made natural our nature.

I blew my trumpet;
the day had finally come,
then I struck the bell,
and she arrived like hell.

I offered her a seat,
showered her hands and feet,
then I offered her a drink,
chanting, "Mara, oh Mara.."

"Give me love,"
and she showered me,
I felt baptised.
I handed her flowers,

thanked her for her blessings,
and before I could offer my obeisances,
my friend big barked;
"hey, macha,Wake up!"

Loud sirens.

Thoughts swirl round in my head,
loud as rainbow coloured sirens,
They lark all over my mind like cops-
around the block, working off the clock.

Sometimes they're toe to toe as if namaz,
I often fail to sleep, it's like jihad.
ayeh without them playing their part,
I would have no use for my Natraj.

And late night before I sleep,
my thoughts clink like machines,
I call it processing; my mind's a factory,
piecing things together so it can guide me.

When it's time for me to sleep,
they bleat like furry sheep,
to help countdown till I shutdown,
then I levitate far away into unknown.

During the day, I have more control
I manipulate them and make music,
I sail far away from rugged coast
on speed boats listening to waves.

when I'm Idle, they bring me turmoil.
and I can't wrap them up into silk foil.
When beautiful, I display them like fossil.
all in all, I'm glad they spoil me.

They can rule me all they want,
as long as they get me where I want.

A valentines special, introducing Loathpid

The pids were twins born in the same pod,
first ever of their kind to join mankind.
One to spread love and affection,
the other to dissipate it and cause havoc.

They had a perfect love-hate relationship.
Cupid would hug and kiss his older brother,
Loathpid plotted endless ways to hurt Cupid.
They were friends; ayeh, would go at it like foes.

Loathpid matured faster than Cupid,
so he'd spend endless nights working late,
spreading hate as Cupid slept and dreamt-
unaware of the greatness of his power.

Loathpid grew to hate Cupid's "love shit,"
they gradually fell apart and went separate ways.
Cupid started working but missed his brother,
when off work, searched the world to find him...

The closest they ever get is crossing paths on;

Valentines day,
February, 2013.

Seated by a pond,
two lovers indulge in ice cream,
they giggle, chit chat, and do-
all the things friends do.

Cupid shows up for morning duty,
slings an arrow on her booty.
In shock she flinches forward,
fumbles and drops her cone-

which tumbles onto her lover,
who jolts back and falls
into pond adorned with leaves,
they giggle as love blossoms...

The massacre of hearts,
Valentines day,
February, 2014.

In a pent house up so high,
the love birds high off love
soared the sky lost in kisses,
so the world was shut out.

They didn't hear loathpid come in.
he struck him on his bum-
with a spear like aqua man's,
which shook and made him numb.

As he reacted to the numbing pain,
he shoved his lover off the rail,,
she wailed as she plummeted,
tearing through the furry clouds.

Wails turned into queer giggles,
she could't believe where love was bound
'fore she splattered all over the ground,
and her lover threw himself over the rail.

Loathpid had returned for revenge.

Check out the lovers funeral 

The lovers funeral

They lay hands clasped together,  
wrapped in white cerecloth.
They put them in a double casket, 
and lay them down to rest in dirt,

Their last wish was written in will,
a chance for them to seal the deal;
ayeh as their souls fled their bodies,
they rose apart and sought the sky.

When cleric prayed and said grace,  
the poet came forth and eulogised. 

"So long dear lovers, so long.
eccentric how you chose to leave,
absurd how you met your death,
amazing how you lived for love."

IF you want to find out how they passed,
Look for A valentines special, introducing Loathpid

You, Yes you.

I was pushing my baby brother on his new cycle.
celebrating joy, oblivious of the fourth coming ploy,
then things started to fall apart like Chinue Achebe,
The house trampled over us with a hailstorm thrust.
Father who was walking towards could move no further.
he had been trampled by debris, his face peeped out,
smothered in white, I cried inside to set aside emotions.
I had to push my baby brother to the side like a Tetris.
Ayeh, the Tv fell over him and swallowed him,
sparked one last spark. his last cry I did not hark,
as I lay with a boulder over my chest, yelling;
low yells trying to quell the numbing pain from hell.
My yells faded as I watched debris marinate my brother,
as if the TV wasn't enough. then I saw the light flashing,
death was on its way coming, and everything faded out.

I hovered in the air, and watched the hails of smoke rise.
I watched my life come to an end like a bankrupt enterprise,
Life had played unfair, it sent us a controversial drone attack..

Life is strange,
One moment you could be skating high like Tony hawk,
then other you could be laying in your grave like a log;
feeling, Deadish...

Be careful and grateful, life comes and goes by quick.

At the fork.

Last night I had dinner with Tina,
we went to a place called the fork.
It was a lovely place-it mimicked a fork.

It had a three steel door entry.
The one to the left-
led to the place with stakes.
The one to the right
led to our table for the night.
The one in the middle-
showed you out after you'd nibble.

She was dressed in white,
clean as napkin white.
I was dressed in silver,
as simple as silverware.

The room was chilly,
almost like cold cutlery.
It was round like a plate,
our chairs wrought like spoons.

We dipped into our chairs,
then took a bite off starters.
champagne was delivered,
in a bucket with flares,
we sipped on it like winners.

She fed me one of her-
chunky pieces of beef,
the chef was a chief,
Top notch! Although,
The fork stung me for a moment,
it was ice Popsicle cold,
smooth as sand papered metal.
It's taste; debatable.
Almost like plastic; tasteless,
With a hint of, "mattress foam."
She said..

It reminded me of my youth,
When I used to pica off-
mattress foam to derive soothe.
I told her about it, she laughed-
as we feasted on our veggies-
like mindless cows then-
we clinked our glasses to the night.

Papier mache ghost

Je m'appelle papier mache;
la mannequin.

People use me, they say
I'm easy to manipulate
I'm only "papier mache,"

They make a fool out of me,
dress me with a cloak over head
with big round eyes like a ghost.
yet still, I go out haunting-
seeking deadbeat victims
hoping to find romance.

This story starts @ Mr Benssons' jewels.

Bennson, "the dealer,"
opened chit chat with her.
She always intrigued me;
la mode, patient and very artistic.

He was playing wing-man-
ayeh she focused on him like a rubix,
so she failed to feel my touch.

I had been haunting her for days,
funny thing is she had imaginary friends,
crazy or crazy?

As she ambled out the shop,
I docked back into my spot,
stood, froze, waved, and smiled,
the "papier mache smile;"
that thanks you and brings you back.

I grew tired of waiting,
so the next time she came back,
I turned on my charm and pursued.
It turned out the smile had done wonders,
it snapped her like a gator bag!
So my efforts didn't go out in vain.

She invited me to her place and we stayed up late,
I had hoped to give her the holy ghost,
she slept in the couch, gave me the bed,
the nerve of this babe!

I was feisty so I attempted to sleep thirsty.
It was dreadful, I eventually pulled through,
As I dreamt, a "visitor" came by,
she gigidy, gigidy atop my woody,
and served me like a table;
they call them "majini."

I wondered how she got through my jeans.
rubbed my lamp and I came like a genie?
I struggled to wake from sleep,
yet could look round the room.
I could barely move or get up.
It was probably seated on my chest;
sleep paralysis they say.

When I eventually woke up
everything around me
turned out haunting.
The strange ambience of her room,
the photos were un-deen to me,
the pink, gosh, the pink,
and it was just 4.30 am.

I stayed awake till the sun stood out like a TM.
when I left, I decided not to go back to Tz...

Back from my dreadful holiday,
I wasted no time, I went back to Bensons',
got dressed to impress my next prey...

I waited on a new maiden to drop by
so that together we could hallo-wean,
trick or treat, and get fond of each other.

When she walked in,
I stood with one hand in pocket,
the other stretched out for a hand shake,
and on my face;
the "papier mache smile."
She couldn't resist it,
she wanted all of me,
shook my hand and took photos with me.
said I was a strange man,
I only lacked a queen.
So she bought the clothes off of me,
then I gave her the holly ghost.
She scrum "merry, merry;"
ayeh, Jesus never saved her,
she had fallen for a ghost,
one unlike most filled with emotion.

Love bloomed,
we walked through walls together,
It was sweet serenade,
we danced to it til the music got cut!

I lost my ghost-ism,
failed to walk through walls-
Mr unstoppable had turned stoppable,
the Haunter had been haunted,
I was disgruntled; I lost it!

I started begging her-
to stay a tad longer.
I had surely become poor;
hollow heart, peevish eyes.
I turned into a chokora,

I got onto my feet,
dusted my self off,
dried trickling tears-
from my hollow sockets,
and plastered back-
the "papier mache smile,"

Wednesday, 12 February 2014

Fear, nay, RespecT

The falcon must give the Falconer due respect;
ayeh, respect mustn’t be skewed for fear;

In its due ;
One will bow down for the falconer and greet,
one will go huts off as a respectful treat,
one will await the falconer to take his seat,
even though all acclaimed, one mustn’t retreat.

Unless out of fear where one bows to kiss feet 
attempting to please,
turning it into deceit with ease,
yet fear is an act we must seize.
for "respect" sparked by fear is untrue.
Bull vs Matador #Conjolted
Falcon vs Falconer or is it the other way round?