Like to sleep all day long.
Eating nothing, drinking nothing
just lying down all day long.
Talking nothing thinking nothing
just closing the eyes all day long.
Going nowhere, getting nowhere
just relaxing all day long.
Meeting none, mingling with none
just down flat on bed all day long.
Would it take place? Would it happen?
just sleeping all day long.
Setting out aimlessly in the street.
saw a man roaming like me.
He was a little over ninety
and was talking and laughing
not with others but to himself.
Stopped a while to listen to him.
seeing that he had an audience in me
started his address gleefully.
“In the year 1920 there was a drought
followed by a famine and people died.”
Saying so he started crying miserably.
Unable to console him and feeling bad terribly
returned home with a heavy heart
The picture of the crying man
kept coming now and then from that day.
Love has been sung from years unknown.
Praising love when success becomes known,
condoning amour when failure comes unknown.
Love, from the days of Adam and Eve, is blown
out of proportion for reasons best known
Poesy takes off with the love theme
appreciated by all with a beam.
The amiability finds a gleam
when love strategically forms a team
of man and woman like a dream.
Sensual love incites a romantic passion.
It initiates a dying anticipation
hurting if there arises a separation.
The pain becomes unbearable causing an insinuation
that even leads to a suicidal instigations.
Love unfolds a deviation from passion likely
creating a reference to other forms lively
activating a concept of filial love vividly
patronising the motherly love vivaciously
showing a patriotic love enthusiastically
Ecstasy is an exhilaration
away from logical reason
far away from experiences common.
If ecstasy alone goes to make poetry
the poem would be an offing of incredibility
bordering on surrealism undoubtedly.
Poetry is emotion and feeling spontaneous
that had undergone a cycling rigorous
expressed with tune and tone delicious..
Happenings presented in a plain current
are prosaic and dull exposing a brunt
being a matter of fact without any adherent.
Incidents sung with little add ups
of colour and rhyme to top up
go to make up poetry in a gallop.
That which is mundane
could be made poetically sane
with rhythm in the refrain.
As poetry is the song of the heart
ecstasy and mundane set about
keying in an imaginative support.
The symptoms of infection
tell us their status
where do they stand
what are they up to.
neglecting them would
direct to immeasurable problems
unmanageable and unrectifiable.
Like wise signs of deficit
come up in life as on and now
with many faults and defaults
managing them timely
would bear fruitful results
setting them aside
would bring hardships.
unheard and unbelievable.
It is time that takes
the priority and primary
spot in every venture.