TALES OF MOTHERLAND

The door of California is beautiful

Its glorious days shine anew

Glittering like the heavens fall angel

And back to the horoscope of the inn dwellers.

There holds a sign post

“THE STANDING OF CARLOFORNIA”

“WELCOME TO THE HONORABLE”

“WELCOME TO OUR WORLD”.

An alien who stands topsy-turvy

Chuckling slowly through the beauties

Here is California, the honorable

The home of Arnold Schwzneger.

His smiling enamels unhidden

And its entails lie beneath

 Niggard face tries a pursue,

A rancor drinking from the sea of hatred.

Eyes behind the bars

A body from afar seen

From a disembodied area approaching           

Once I began drawling to him.

Hold, hold, hold there, he shouts

Aback to flesh and turning

The police he was in full regalia

A search has being ordered on you.

An alien to California

Am an alien a thief not

And in my head plunged surface

I remember mother.

Were with a currency note

You pass the wright of the hunger bloated mouths

Tried being a novice to the play of pranks

And at all not a child’s play.

To make moves watching them come near

And standing still plays you a fool

A step back implies a useless fate

And drawn in this ocean of confusion.

I AM A NIGER-AREAN

I COME FROM NIGER-AREA

The mother who soaked me with thoughts;

The thoughts of survival.

Mother I will return my letters to you

The letter of the evils of we

Then the door of eternity shall let loose

And thus my jingle shall begin.

   …………….. LINES

                    

To thou  I speak

Pouring the golden anklets of war

Booming its torch of glory

a touch of vindication acclaims.

for that name “ an epic to the ungodly gods”

for she who had all she had forsaken to life lost

stands then to base around: the sojourners to whom betrayed

and life piled with life.

thus a mother tongue yawns and

the tale of the moons tells

the head of the orchard comes with a

windy troy in the battle field.

The busted justice speak not

Either my way or turn away ever

A time or never

The epic sets behind tree of the orchard.

……………. THEN

                          

A time for the sun to slide away

And jumping at my wildest glee;

A standing tranquilized

The sinking stars.

To gaze at the entrancing hours

When the moon was out to count her dauntless breasts,

The moping squalid owl

Ready to attack the night with her ignoble strife.

I owe a bliss to the mother earth

Who with her frightful sarcasm,

Calls the world to clap  for her

The perambulators who stood transfixed at moon tales.

And it wiggles

We the wretched mouth that speaks evil of mother

The nasty mouth which holds bold

Could ooze away at raining season

The hungry peasants mouth 

Broad on hunger and anger

and barren stomachs

Who live to die a wet death.

The cynosure of all enclosed

We live to die and die to live

A foretold chiasmus

And the curtain falls.

……………STAGE

                

The men that set the story sets

The stage is open in its wildest curtains,

And an actor who steps on a citadel of disgust with

An architect with a proffering hand and a spell braking blue print.

The men whom we know are honorable

Brutus is a faithful friend,

To Caesar the gods are honorable

And to God men are most just on stage.

The life we bear screams: A mistaked actor

The long and awaited unraveled epic

The drowsy tickling lulls

Laid quite bare on stage.

I wait an unawaited life

I feed on frustration

My life is choked

Poked to its very core death.

Of that man who has written an epitaph

In the eerie wind of critics.

And us then the cyclical hypocrites

He sing ours before our awaited demise

But to ye men be not proud

that you bequeath life an end

That all earths’ vanity obey thee,

And so you put a bullet through the rails of our existence

The harnessed jingles,

The sycophant who can’t hold their lives even to a better

Then of their ways and then a whole

The village Hamden.

Those are the dogged apes

Indomitable Casanovas of currencies

With love for wealth so much refined

The enthroned captains without a training

Wandering urchins and

Bouncing gaieties

Horrors of the highway

Who crash under the yoke of isles

…………….MOTHER

A woman of bloody hoary headed beings

Who is pleased with blood in disguise

Thus the pens arise in jittery

To speak good of your ills.

At dawn the entrails

A scream like a great shouting

A train with the carnivals lunch

And a cue to the black painted cemetery.

A glimmering landscape

A world of death

An ocean of bloated sorrows

A hip of regret under the rain

A mountain laid on ills

The pen of impossibility,

The debt of the licenses

Clamors deep beneath the hades.

For worries and cares dominate the world

And man is never at peace

Then he rapturously gives in the way

That he may pile life's troubles for life.

But who knows of this

That life steps back

And currencies are but mans

And sectors outgone withers.

Economy bleaches with man

Lands saddened to much nutrient

And death which beholds us all

Still breaths and cricks from the bench of wolves.

      ……………..AND AFTER THIS LIFE WHAT ELSE

With whom shall his flamboyant wealth dwell

Currencies falling like the beak of the water down

Flowing above his casket

Were has he gone with his citadel of glory.

Let the mete and dole

Gather and plunge a head difference

Bestride the threshold

And haunt the mythical dream.

Our nights by the eaves

And the tinder for fire

will free onyx set in a crown of thorns

From the wicked sapper.

Light will come from the darkness

As she lies down at eve

The windy troy will be over

Then I will return with my rhythm.