Christmas mornings used to be soulful,
New socks, high boots,
Hot muffins and winter tales.
Served with mumma’s pancakes
Sizzling with maple and
Mystical spices from the kitchen of the gods.
Brown and strong-
With a hint of cocoa
A cookie big enough –
To never drown in the swirls,
And m&ms – my favourite.
Alas, last Christmas was different
It had no pancakes
No seasons greetings.
It had no rush
It had no life
It was cold and stale,
A curse, without Mom alive.
I woke up to shut windows
Grabbed a half-eaten doughnut from the freeze,
And made coffee for one,
Black and grim.
A life without values and standards is sheer cannibalism.
My mind drifts from uneducation and poverty
To your embrace.
From child labour and deprivation to Panting for breaths.
I go around the table
Swirling from health and sanitation
To moaning your name…
I crave for you my loved one,
In times unimaginable,
In times, when you are an impossible word.
I long for you
I want you, always.
Because dreams make life possible. Without them, life is an empty vessel without any warranty cards.
I brew my morning cup
With cravings and erotic memoirs of
You and me.
Lust for life.
The poet in me leapt out of the case
To acknowledge what my subconscious
Registered from at a distance.
Nine cups of coffee,
Half a box of cigarettes,
A cheesecake and a meat puff later,
I had a one-liner encrypted
But with nothing –
Not a word
Let alone a punctuation to go with the ones existing.
For another two espressos, a half-eaten cinnamon bun,
And a Cuban cigar for adversities alike.
Impatient I tore off the page and started again,
A dot and two struck off words later
I ordered a hot chocolate
And concluded my great writing hours
With a glittered “screwed” stamped on my forehead.
This isn’t new, but each time I am tightly bolted like this, I curse my soul on vacation.