it's a poem , rather a verse... a modern one , of course, about the despair of the poet over the futility of life before death,,, as death conquers everything ... so it can vbe said to be a worship of the DEATH
Finding the scapegoats ---- those
Yellow blossoms
Measure my evil against.
To dissect all my vicissitudes.
To negress.
Death takes away vanity.
White flame ---- not clear, of course.
Frozen into 'placidity'.
Thought's a luxury in a newbie intellect,
Depositing 'bad conscience'.
Being jealous of the dead.
Sweet dark tranquility settled upon
My soul.
Upon its dark uneasiness.
Solicitous one
Eyeducts dry
Bedaggled from illicit Forays
Hammering my pain into myself ;
Intellectual stands for an individual.
No 'credit balance' this time
For redemption.
Internal treachery.
Queer calvinistic protectionism,
Forcing me the 'other way think'.
That cup of tea on an abbot's platform
D'sire to choke and rend and crush.
Leeching my strength
Leer smile
Trying to pull my inner self------
From muck.
The fishers' fragile cranes hovering over.
Mistress of my shuffle ---
Those white trousers, mauvre patters slit up
The thigh..... I really feel.
Death is absolute.
Only absolute.
Canal full of bodies, of carcasses
Irish stew --- too much meat.
How quick, simple and anonymous its impersonation
When i die and my body lay in a doorway.
After all, nobody is ever betrayed by enemy,
But friend.
Like Silence of the Invisible
Poetry by dibyendu ghosal
Read 402 times
Written on 2008-12-04 at 11:51
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the contortionist
THE CONTORTIONISTFinding the scapegoats ---- those
Yellow blossoms
Measure my evil against.
To dissect all my vicissitudes.
To negress.
Death takes away vanity.
White flame ---- not clear, of course.
Frozen into 'placidity'.
Thought's a luxury in a newbie intellect,
Depositing 'bad conscience'.
Being jealous of the dead.
Sweet dark tranquility settled upon
My soul.
Upon its dark uneasiness.
Solicitous one
Eyeducts dry
Bedaggled from illicit Forays
Hammering my pain into myself ;
Intellectual stands for an individual.
No 'credit balance' this time
For redemption.
Internal treachery.
Queer calvinistic protectionism,
Forcing me the 'other way think'.
That cup of tea on an abbot's platform
D'sire to choke and rend and crush.
Leeching my strength
Leer smile
Trying to pull my inner self------
From muck.
The fishers' fragile cranes hovering over.
Mistress of my shuffle ---
Those white trousers, mauvre patters slit up
The thigh..... I really feel.
Death is absolute.
Only absolute.
Canal full of bodies, of carcasses
Irish stew --- too much meat.
How quick, simple and anonymous its impersonation
When i die and my body lay in a doorway.
After all, nobody is ever betrayed by enemy,
But friend.
Like Silence of the Invisible
Poetry by dibyendu ghosal
Read 402 times
Written on 2008-12-04 at 11:51
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
