He says , "I am a slave"

Were you a king then you would know
The king of justice your words doth lie
I was not an inborn slave

Was not i
A queen?
In the isles of my father's blood
Tangled with in a crystal sheen
Did not my mother's veins feed me?

At times named
A baroness
A countess
An imperial Monarch.

Cushioned by her brawny muscles
Abed i reigned ,
Womb's three trimesters.
To have my single glimpse
Did not you cluster all the negatives
Out of x.ray films?

You bite her dust
You trim her words
You Clip her bones
You chop her flesh- laden zones
Of the one
Who was born once
A high-born Dame

My Slate Blue Disobedient Heart

I kept it million miles away from the noxious world
Enveloped it inch by inch no matter seethed my blood and burnt my veins
I thrust off the simmering and stifling ravenous air of disgust
The horizon unfolding shadows in olive, yellow and russet
Choking fumes of taunts i engulfed, rescued its dust from rust

Alas on that misfortune eve, it saw.....

Weak Whispers of withered palest rattling roses
And ivory stars dangling by the crimson moon its soft flushes
It fell prey to the falsehood and subterfuge of the Universe
Like a disobedient child my slate-blue heart
To market its fears among turf coloured seers came out unmasked...

The King of Spring you do not know

Even if the cones are not born green

Don't their hollow browns reflect the Dusk's moonbeam?

No matter the berries lost their Velvet

They wrap in December, the Sultry Soil in Blue Quilt

Remember?? You threw like a whore the dry orange rose

Look above, Its tiny  stem is knitted on the nest of Black Crows 

And then you churned the yellow treeless bunch of Leaves

The same bunch canopies a versatile creed of dormant seeds

You set your boat ashore when flakes turn to lake

This Purple Que Parasols the fish from snowy Pellets and hail

And your Chariot staggers to go near the gothic smoky Grove

But you Cant see, A rainbow wreath of peacock elves shield the roof   

But You do not Know...

But You do not Know...

Even In Autumn the Crippled and Murky shadows

Taller and Taller Grow

For in Autumn's World

The most Adverse is the most Prosperous...

(Copy rights reserved to Paras Ali)

My Heart has gone astray , it is no more on my roads

As we went hand in hand

Teeming with twinkles on the Desert's sand Tranquilly Oblivious; Felicity On thine lips used to burst Together We had breath In million layered oranges and reds Our two Knuckles in one Had many times ruled my deshaped Sun Heart! come back to thither soon My clock has circumbulating Moon Oh the Stormy Wind! be little gentle and Slow My Heart has gone Astray it is no more on my roads
Before i could encounter the autumn in sheep's wool Hissed, murmured and rustled Your waggish Witty Push How Affable you were my softest chamber... You left and then i learnt World has lasting Winter Here i stand in multitudes; Captored and Plundered With metallic snow my woods of blood are worst to rust My brain has lost its beeps I think no more divine Talk to me Heart! My nerves succumb Sing me Tender Lullaby's Rhyme Oh Stormy Wind be gentle and Slow My heart has gone astray it is no more on my roads

"Eclipsed Identity"

I went long on foreign miles

Crawled,

Jumped

Struggled with every Limb,

Tailored my skin,

Truncated my fins,

Waved off the wintery wings

I shape shifted....

Was i a flagrant liquid?

Was i a lucid Fluid?

Or a Molten Solid?

I knew not....

All of my Trails my polished paint escaped

My toil earned the roads

Which are only my mask's abode

Clueless and sun less i lie bare

Unrecognisable

 In my own battle

My mask stands the hero

and I.....

The chained Slave

'Not a saint, but a Half Human'

Capitalist's affluents dwarfed his hillocks of degrees
Seculars opened his veins to set him free
He bled, he oozed, his inch of skin paid the price
His neurons dribbled dreary dews , was he bruised? 
No , not yet he moved ahead
His pale termite infected bones and voiceless vocal chords
A million artists they called, like bees plunder the sweet
The more dark archs legnthened his noontide
More the Artist's serpent-tooth smile burnished wide
He preserved the niggardly genius in mediocrity 
And coppered coins on his breath to show sheer sincerity
Abondened from the Earth, a priest found his relics
Declared a saint, the script holder processed all his empty bricks
Today, i his daughter out of hunger, out of acute thirst
Is forced to lick from her own Father's blood, the holy grail

Life's Last Endeavor

Scrapes, scratches 

Wounds, bruises,
Clamps, Crutches,
Pricking Pangs
Punctured Cramps
Laying low
The Bronzite Man,
Mowing Down,
His Life's Hour-Glass.

Churning and Chopping,
Drop by Drop
His Blood ,
Membranes
Neurons,
Vessels and 
Clots.

Knocking down,
His waggish Ken.
Cloth less stands,
Now his entrails.
The Bones the flesh
Are territory less.
His Sun Tumbling
and Struggling,
To fight
Purple, Blue ,black
and their Kins.

But today
There are no earls
There rules no king
Death has its Dynasty
it will smite
It will strike
To keep Him Slow
Numb
Frozen
Tranquil and
lowly-browed

Ventilators,
Oxygen Masks,
Drips, Injectibles,
Sedative Pills,
To fill and lift,
Paucity of Pink.
The Electric Shocks
Clip-clopping
Kicking Up
The old man's heels

The Dying Man
Pushed, Pulled ,Jerked 
The blue lips,
And
Bee-infected-wounds.
He died not in Silence
But in noisy Struggle
As Life's Last Farewell
Asks for Absolute Endeavor