Skip to main content

Upside Down

I go clucking into oblivion
Not an ear to hear
my desperate call from doom

My feathers detach
dropping down 
from sparkling white 
to tawny brown on the ground

I am a feathery fiend
for I never end
my struggles to free away 
from the fence

As he cycles away 
onto the muddy plain 
with me lolling upside down
my legs strangled into a mess
on my way to mourn

My friends and foe
have no morrow
for they are beside me
clucking away to sorrow

I breathe my smell
nostalgia creeps in
of the meadows
that I dwelt in

But all I smell now
is of the steely cycle
of blood and
the stench of paan
that the satan chews

I am untied
fall down to gravity
picked up
my wounded neck bleeding
ducked in
my neck hell bent
strapped to the pricking metal
of the fence

I sense my end
as I am thrashed away
my head pressed to the black slab
that smells of gory blood

Cllluuuuckkkk... Clllluuucckkkk
I thaw in pain
my feathers plucked
I gnaw my tongue
as pain sears 
and blood trickles
as the knife 
tears down my life.

I can no more cluck...
for all I know 
I am dead meat
yet hanging upside down
with the unsettling flies
endeavouring to get a taste

For I am up on sale 
beaten down by death
just for the satans to savour
my bones and flesh. 

Image courtesy: Internet


Post a Comment

Speak your mind

Popular posts from this blog


Image courtesy: world wide web

The stars that connect the sky,  the tides that weave the sea, the pebbles that merge the shore, the trees that mesh the forest, the branches that link the trees,  the leaves that entwine the branches, the sun that lights the horizon, the sky that paints the water, the waters that survives the fish, the fish that eats the seaweeds, the seaweeds that carpets the rocks, the rocks that protects the soil, the soil that strengthens the roots, the roots that keeps alive the trees,  the trees that mesh the forest, the forest that survives the big bears, leopards, and birds, the birds that live on the worms, the worms that protect the soil, the soil that gives birth to crops, the crops that survive the we, the we that eat everything in this big, wild world, the world in us is the world outside, the outside that reflects the inside, the inside that is abstract, the abstract is opaque, yet translucent, the translucence of the sun rays in a muddled dew drop at daw…

To write is to dwell

FEBRUARY 15th, 2012

What writing means to me...

As lonely as a cloud, as boring as boredom itself, I was. I grew up as a typical child at school but a very hefty one, I am still the same. I managed to cheer people with my innocence but did not manage to make happy friends to last a lifetime because of my gross physique. I couldn't play as I had no playmates at home and my only hobby was to sit and watch tv.

When I was studying in kindergarten, I used to visit a nearby shop with my dad. My dad was busy shopping for groceries and I engaged myself in observing things around me. The people who had mixed emotions that outshone on their faces, an old man cycling with a lot of strain, probably getting back home, the lady vendor with her dirty saree pinned up to her waist and squatting on the floor, selling vegetables, the autowala bargaining with his potential customer, the green trees which arched high with its countless leaves, the flowers that smile at me on the road side, happy child…

I'm too shallow to write a verse

I'm too shallow to write a verse To wrap around the twists and turns To dwell unto my own, I do Living somebody else's life or my own? Shrouded under piles of thought, I scribble, thinking only of the applause.
I'm too shallow to write a verse or two To make ends meet, I'm too cuckoo. I'm not the classic, scratching blue wooing 'em, tearing 'em apart  with every word.
I'm not the one who rhymes nor the one with notes for those lyrics. I'm the one who scribbles blotching blue on all my troubles, roiling over moments back and forth, trying to string those stray words, into at least a doggerel. See, I don't make sense.  I told you, I'm too shallow to pen that sonnet, that ballad, that haiku, that refrain, that ode.
I'm forcing it out all that gibberish snowballed  unto mine, to chime and rhyme  but nevertheless I realise in time, I'm to shallow to be read over cheese and wine.