It is such a grotesque situation
I can’t verbally match how I feel
Seems I’m staled in a dissociation
I can’t say what I want to reveal
If I could get some help, I’d be glad
But there isn’t a sign, so I’m worried
Cause it looks like I’m back from the dead
And I’m living again the whole story
As the time passes by, I remember
What seemed vague and disjointed, comes clear
Like your voice of familiar timbre
From the messenger record I hear
The plot goes like we’ve known it before
Where and when, matters less, my sweet angel
In the most recent life we showed more,
Much more than if I were a stranger.
Glorious world with sacrilegious act.
Untamed people with staled facts.
Courageous ones are dismantled for instance,
Fictional ones are too fiction to rant.
Vigorous thoughts following with stance.
Humorous ones are hard to track.
Smart ones are too much for a glance.
Cynical ones, they never last.
Forecasting weather with a chance.
Hoping for a future with an incapability to adapt.
Drafting dreams while breaking pacts.
Hard-earned life is always up for the chat.
This world is a nuisance to be exact.
The air
When it pours, I dissolve.
During heat, I resolve.
I’m more amongst greens.
I’m there in every scene.
The coolest, never on rest.
In motion, with no emotion.
Neither fixed destination.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.
I peep in through the ventilations,
a part of me, I drop in there.
I flee in glee, from cities to live,
where staled and fatigued, I’m stabbed to give,
to give a portion with no hesitation,
to let survive, I move with a flair,
to inhale, to relieve, to breathe in fresh air.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.
For all the youth, I’m young.
To the aged, I’m old.
Whn vexed on earth,
I’m furious to be mould.
In swirls, like a drunkard I move ,
to run, to destroy the houses, the roofs.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.
I embrace with hugs,
the ones who lives.
Not a trace I give,
to the ones who leave.
In cylinders, I’m trapped.
On plants I’m overlapped.
When freshly consumed, you glow.
Unstoppable I flow,
I flow, I flow.
If something is stale
It's an amount of tale
As bitter as an ale
That ruins the unit of life
As it is becoming restale
Younger age' s agility
When turning to fragility
One is termed as stale
As the stale tale ale
Accumulated, effects on staled
Because one becomes aged
An eye opener closes the openness
Makes the one closed with illness
" I " strengthens with the " I "
Listen to the " I " from within
Obey the other " I " from in
We will be one Isten
With all Wellness
Dr. Virinchi Mudumbai Acharya
Pen name:
Virinchi. Praguna. Hithaoishi
ON TENDING THE GREAT ANCESTRAL FIRES
Here lies the residue
Of an old fire
Long gone
Dry—Ashes
Left to the whelms
Of raindrops to dampen
Into a useless mush—
Or for the wind to blow
Aimlessly to nowhere;
Wet and immobile
Or blowing dry in the wind,
Useless are cold ashes.
Here, scattered among the warm ashes,
Lay hot remnants of a once great fire
Gone untended—abandoned as.
Often, tenders of great fires are released
From their duties by the thirst of death;
Others are just scared away.
Be whichever it may, great fires
Cocoon themselves in charcoal hued embers.
Charcoal hued embers—steamers of raindrops
And lovers of re-birthing winds of ignition.
Come chilled children;
Movements are like unsettled ashes
Of social interchange; revolution,
Like volcanic embers of transformation.
Come cocooned children;
Let us gather and stoke volcanic embers
That we may metamorphose in the presence
Of the Great Fire spirit of our ancestors—
Least we devolve into the staled mush of ashes.
Fresh Skin
With my shadows and ALL
FRESH SKIN
I will need a steed of a horse and a whip.
‘cause we will be riding in the parade throughout
8:00am tomorrow. If I’m wrong though and you
wanted me to not see my shadow, then I wanted skin
Bright lights are staled by every soul and monster sleeps
Until 11 or 12 am, to get started. Pitiful damn people. ”Sir
Can I get my money?” The shadows absorb the attention
That He draws to His feet something said
After days go by I will clean up. Sure
Fresh skin metal Super Lock
Melting a collection of murder
Fresh skin may be dangerous
I don’t drive them then.
Fresh SKIN metal super lock
Never learned right from wrong
Didn’t belong to anyone
Mainly dejected man
Life was a last stand
Couldn’t afford to lose
Might as well hang his noose
Didn’t take free rides
Little joy big pride
Impossible to fail
Even when hope staled
Always fought to survive
Never sought to thrive
Enwrapped in dissatisfaction
No encumbered actions
Impeccable heart and conviction
Life just a big contradiction
Fate’s tortoise in the race
Held back by predestined pace
Hated by most men
No family or friends
Another lonely Rambo
Out in the field with no ammo
In the midst of sanities battle
Struggling to rive his shackle
Perpetually trying to juggle
His portentous struggles
Lacking the ability of offense
His defect superior defense
Merely the passionate individual
Failing to conquer life’s irrational rituals
Only peace one dream
With no support no team
Simply a different man
Too chained to stand
He didn’t care what they said
In his heart and in his head
The only reason he survived
GOD wanted him to thrive
Sophie's sweat
landscapes
the claret red horizon
thick serum
trickles
from a Sickroom -
a death ward
where cracked knuckles
spatter the fjords
moistening the planks;
bathing the laths of anxiety
‘neath
marquis de sade stumps
Norwegian expressions of death -
agoraphobia
murdering actuality;
the Dance of Life
rapidly burns
as a funeral pyre of Ashes are
seized from
your tribe’s headstone
the stench of brother’s legacy
replaces
a protected breath
and a Dead Mother can
descry muted
caterwauls
between
the Clock and the Bed
the two guardians of quietus
merely exit
this clotted bridge
contemptuously -
in soured and
staled
delight