My poetic pen has ruptured
the petite pink hymen
of the onion-skinned virgin paper
and an ink-stained poem lies
naked, without the symbolic fig leaf…
As I’m about to be put to death for
my inadvertent insanity -
Let me stalk death that has haunted me
in the fearful emerald jungles,
prior to my execution!
Before I am hanged in the endless early hours of dawn.
permit me to -
poison a petite poetry
crush a creative couplet,
slay a stylish sonnet,
exterminate an emotional elegy,
hara-kiri a humble haiku,
burn a boisterous ballad
kill a kaleidoscopic kavita,
slaughter a simple shayari,
guillotine a graceful ghazal…
else fulfill my death wish and
allow me to scrawl a poignant parting poem
on the stone-walls of my death cell
with my tortured bloody fingers,
before the executioner pulls the rope of my gallows
choking my black clothed sweaty face
till my eyes bulge out and
my panting tongue is put to rest -
but I know that
my immobile body will vanish
under the blanket of incense-filled velvety nights,
while my soul will lie awake
dreaming those aquamarine dreams
on heavenly blue satin sheets of the sky
embedded with zillion twinkling stars…
