Saturday, March 5, 2011


It is a disorder, this conviviality of yours.
True is the notion, "present mirth hath present laughter".

And you must cash in on the 'opportunities',
Else the bell will toll, and long it will toll,
Till you to your previous delitescence return.

You abhor the actions taken by them.
But your ballgame too, is carried out unorthodoxly.
Loss. And caustic are their shows of farce.

Encircled one, struck off another.
Ignored the mediocre and the unseemly.
A profusion of options and a cataclysm.

Bereft of life is the bird since the sunny days.
The bright beady eyes and the capable wings.
You're almost pushing daisies now.

So try and fly, with all your might.
Smile and seduce, rock and run.
You are meant for fretting and impairing.

Gain and collect. Solace and security,
Their veneration and yearning.
The painstaking efforts taken to confess.

And like a name on a list, selected.
Only to endure for a short pink while.

Reviling the flippancy.

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