Sunday 28 November 2021


Whether in an interval of one’s reticence or an absence of one’s retaliation thereof

Echoing in one’s dystopian paradise

Blue and green where willing one could hear from within: sincere admissions 

Urgent grievances that lament forth from her

Henceforth thou: a peony who doth radiate

Under the sun’s colossal beams whose fluorescent spears

Encompass the Earth

As if the tentacles of an utmost compassionate being 

Thou are such the very being above-cited whose delightful musk suspends


Emits a halo enclosing thy entity, entirely

Thy fluffy petals

Pigmented hues of pink

Unfurl religiously, like ribbons, from inside thy organs out 

Till exhibiting thy bud of nectar

Divine a button sown inside thy belly bursts at thy zealous seams

Thy outskirts of robust life

Ever-giving, thy plush little cushion

On which a bee bumbling by resorts to land her rear upon

Thereby a gregarious impostor-turned-occupant she becomes within thy premises 

To relinquish thy bloated breadbasket

Thou offer thy throne as though a pre-planned plight 

Thy compassion is that which persists a void in human civilisation

Thy belly is thus rendered public property

A hotspot for the bee

Who ought to hectic away

Slurps from thy holy well


In which thy sauce dwells, of which no human being, who even if perceiving of himself

Sunnier than the sky 

Could elsewhere source not

Thy syrup

Regardless, oblivious

Delirious whilst blasting Dean Martin’s That’s Amore (Remastered)

He frolics along, aloud, like a child cheering on the recess bell

And you’ll sing, ‘Vita bella’ (vita bella, vitta bella)

The landlord-turned-artist – lacking only a grenade – hacks at thy crumpet

Ting-a-ling-a-ling… ting-a-ling-a-ling… ting-a-ling-a-ling… that’s amore!

Thus, thrice he proceeds internalising: ‘Treacherous a trespasser!’

A venery: he curses at thy settlement as if a weed

Superfluous a sight in the scenery of his garth therefore

No more the surplus of a blade of grass, thou are, that his mower needs devour

His autocratic motor obliterates thy self-esteem

Such that a leaf from thou


Till yellowed

Yields at his feet

Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay… tippy-tippy-tay…

Alas! Egad, thy leaf dishevels in defeat

Surrenders atop the soil soaked in chemicals surrounding thyself

Natheless, thy bush whose branches wherefrom she had cascaded, anticipates more still

Of her atrophy, successively gulps

Through root and trunk 

Through limb and knuckle, an expulsion from thy decaying leaf whence Nature

Be it spoilt or not, self-nourishes herself on instinct

Her degradation plagues not anyone

Rather, recast as humus, doth replenish the Earth at once


What even instigates the upheaval

Of the mysterious brain of a mortal being on the contrary that a cloud could therein

Manifest itself 

Inside his fervent fanes, flaring with thunder

Craving orison for only prayers could repair the adversity in the wilderness

Voicing verses for Nature versus his chanting

Reverberates upstairs; 

In the walnut ward; the walls of flesh

That scaffold humanity’s fogged-up dogma, scarcely contrived of thoughtfully, evidently

A cloud, if birthed by the sky

Must evaporate forsooth, as per the laws of quintessential Life

Yet, if within a ward a cloud is conceived

It seldom does…

Thus is man’s smog of catastrophe

Forfending Nature’s natural course

Could never negotiate with Earth’s ecosystems fruitfully in the prevalence of:

His pride

Wracking his brain, his forecast repudiates compromise

Over time, in its exacerbation

Hereat extinction is, inevitably, nigh

Neither in the Animal Kingdom, nor beyond, never an alternative reality realises itself

The sovereignty of a scapegrace reigns

When flourished unchecked

Leaves the Flora and Fauna aforementioned but scapegoats

Of the monstrosity of man’s ego – man’s upper hand forever too proud to unhand its

Prey; thence They, though so crucial to his survival

Lie at the mercy of his weathered psychology