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Thousands of Nikhil Parekh's poems on God, Peace, Love, Brotherhood, Friendship, Humanity, Environment, Anti Terror, Lovers, Life, Death - here. Click on Page Numbers below to read complete poems. Each page has 10 poems. 
 
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»The Palatial waters

 

The sparkling surface of evanescent water,
Reveals undiscovered exhilaration in a smooth manner,
The impregnable waters had few ripples,
Withstanding the acerbic summer heat,
Cruising along with radiant buoyancy,
Crawling step by step with dreary resistance to hard bed rock,
Into the open crevices of virgin land,
Covering in entirety; barren regions of dry river bed,
To give sedative effects like those experienced,
After massive consumption of lethal tranquilizer drugs.
 
»The other name of life

 

The other name of life; is to spawn into a
rhapsodically fresh beginning every unfurling minute
of the day; although your past might have
indiscriminately pulverized you with an infinite
whiplashes of abuse and hedonistic disdain,

The other name of life; is to unfurl into an
unsurpassable festoon of resplendently vivacious
color; be enamored by the fathomlessly panoramic
gorges of Almighty Lord; even while you were in
drearily subjugated sleep,

The other name of life; is to frolic in the aisles of
rapaciously uncontrollable desire; kiss the most
unprecedented apogees of success; even when you felt
you were being ruthlessly gored by the ferociously
decimating bull,

The other name of life; is to unflinchingly confront
the most venomous juggernaut of the evil; perennially
smiling with the blessings of the Omnipotent divine,

The other name of life; is to metamorphose even the
most ethereal trace of deliriously pernicious
insanity; into an unrelenting tornado of exuberantly
mesmerizing freshness,

The other name of life; is to uninhibitedly philander
under the perpetually blazing rays of the Omniscient
Sun; enlightening every dwelling besieged with
cancerously arcane despair; even though you were
standing beside your veritable shivering grave,

The other name of life; is to symbiotically prosper
arm in arm with every echelon of living kind and
holistic society; melanging every conceivable color
under the Sun; with the religion of unconquerable
humanity,

The other name of life; is to keep perennially
blossoming into a civilization of fructifying
virility; boundless kilometers away from the
tombstones of morbidly decrepit manipulation and
baselessly lugubrious prejudice,

The other name of life; is to assimilate all goodness
that you could fathom from the enchantingly spell
binding atmosphere; ubiquitously sprinkle and bestow
the same upon every entity that you encountered in
your enigmatic way,

The other name of life; is to keep relentlessly
blazing like into a whirlpool of artistically untamed
exoticism; even as avalanches of grumpily sodomizing
politics tried to slander and lethally incarcerate you
from all sides,

The other name of life; is to regally lead each
unfurling moment that unleashed your way to the most
aristocratic limits; and limitlessly ensure the same
to every bereaved organism; who was frantically
struggling to be alive


The other name of life; is to tirelessly spawn like
the poignantly seductive dewdrop; even though it was
well past the heart of gruesomely tyrannizing
midnight,

The other name of life; is to indomitably stand for
the unassailably righteous redolence of Omnipresent
truth; overtopple the monsters of hell; with the sword
of timelessly sacrosanct unity,

The other name of life; is to indefatigably march on
the mission to bond all estranged and disparagingly
staggering mankind; with threads of unbreakably
euphoric and propitiously beautiful camaraderie,

The other name of life; is to soar like a handsomely
unblemished prince through the heavens of bountiful
oneness; blissfully perpetuate the mantra of
iridescent sharing; amongst all cold-bloodedly
dreadful parasites,

The other name of life; is to unstoppably innovate a
civilization of peerless jubilation all the time;
trigger the element of congenital restlessness in your
soul; to harness the most enthrallingly optimum of
even the most frigid bits of lackadaisical space,

The other name of life; is to be a messiah of all
opprobriously decaying living kind; dissipating the
unfathomably majestic energy of your persona; to give
birth to an immortally optimistic tomorrow,

The other name of life; is to take birth an infinite
times again and again and again; for the beloved whom
you had wholesomely dedicated your this life to,

And the other name of life; is to always follow the
inner most voices of your heart; coalesce even the
most diminutive ingredient of your blood with the
spirit of divinely compassionate sensuality; even as
the entire uncouthly monotonous world outside treated
you as the devil’s wife…

(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The perfect male attire

 

Gloves of sensuality; to caress the skin with
unprecedented relish; send shivers of untamed
exhilaration down the spine,

Shoes of invincible victory; marching on the remotest
of land; waving the flag of triumph in flamboyant
spurts of fervor,

A tie blended with flirtatious mischief; used to
blindfold the eyes in wholesome entirety,

A watch of incessant speed; ticking indefatigably
round the clock; in wee hours of the midnight; as well
as in the peak of the brilliantly sunlit day,

A shirt of stupendously woven designs; ruffled
majestically at the collar; to captivate the attention
of every ravishingly wandering damsel,

A necklace of daintily scintillating pearls; extracted
freshly from the oyster; drowning every entity in the
ocean of its profoundly pearly shine,

A pair of astoundingly stitched socks; imparting
compassionate warmth to the feet; enticing every eye
towards the petite leg,

A tantalizing shade of mystical mascara; conjuring
every breathing soul around with the magic in its
enigmatic charm,

A trouser of pure jute; with mesmerizing rings of
denim and golden buttons to engulf the sensuous belly,

Rings of holistic diamond shimmering in tandem on the
finger; painstakingly luring every fairy in the
unfathomable resplendence of its shine,

A perfume of exotic sandalwood shrub; wafting a
supremely seductive aura from the perspiring armpits,

An oil that glistens even under placid rays of the
moon; radiates boisterously in pugnacious daylight,

A belt studded profusely with delectable biscuits of
opalescent silver; granting the visage a terrifically
marvelous shape, keeping the entire demeanor in
perfectly synchronized condition,

Sunglasses embodied with vivid fossil shells;
engendering females to gasp in open mouthed
consternation; metamorphosing the acerbic color of
polluted air into enchanting green,

An oligarchic coat embellished with royally sculptured
beads; standing out incredulously amongst the group
the wild gypsies,

A fountain of redolent rose powder; lingering
voluptuously on the robust cheeks; flooding the nose
with a poignantly tangy freshness,

An overwhelmingly spiffy hairstyle; and each follicle
of the scalp impregnated with rudimentary grass root
oil,

Ornamental cufflinks to bond the sleeves; sometimes an
alluring tool for visitors to sight their own
reflection; admire themselves till timeless eternity,

A grandiloquent pen fitted dexterously to the waist
coat pocket; a symbol of unprecedented sophistication;
and signing a plethora of autographs on every lady's
hands,

Was all that I required to dress in from head to
inconspicuous toe; encompass my body in the most
fascinating clothing that I could ever dream off or
intransigently perceive; infact what I would like to
term succinctly as THE PERFECT MALE ATTIRE…


©COPYRIGHT-2003, BY NIKHIL PAREKH. ALL RIGHTS RESEVED.
 
»The perfect housewife

 

SHE KNEW PRECISELY when her baby would sweat; the things
that perturbed him the most,
While he was profoundly oblivious to his surroundings;
diligently mulling over the sheets of mundane office papers strewn
haphazardly on his desk.


She tossed her baby high in the air; scrupulously catching him in
her arms;
cuddling it with her perennial warmth,
While the moment he caressed it with his barbaric palms;
it started to obstreperously cry.


She pinched her baby dexterously on umpteenth regions of his flesh;
prompting him to inevitably smile,
While he guffawed on the phone with his business partner;
made the child tremble by the impact of his hoarse voice.


She ran waywardly in the spongy grass; trying to chase her baby;
instigating him to utilize his tiny feet,
While he admonished the toddler stringently;
rebuking him for partially dismantling the furniture.


She bathed her baby in a concoction of soft soap and tones of soapy
froth;
afterwards allowing him to randomly roll in the wet mud,
While he stared unrelentingly at the computer with open mouthed
consternation;
slapped the toddler when he noticed the disdainful blemishes that it
had left on the immaculate floor.


She incessantly kept her child in her arms for indefatigable hours
until it slept;
chanting a blend of fairy tale and music to pacify its mind,
While he snatched him savagely from her hands; shoving him
roughly in his cradle;
ordered her to get ready for the ostentatious party.


She bought her baby a battalion of innovative toys;
amusing him by ringing jingling bells in his intricate ear,
While he yelled at her for wasting exorbitant amounts investing in the plastic;
slammed the door behind her back and retired to sleep.


She devoted marathon hours in the day;
endeavoring to teach her baby to coherently speak and write,
While he castigated her;
locked the child in a room; complaining that she didn’t pay
attention to his overwhelming tiredness.


She couldn’t bear the tyranny of staying even a minute away from her child;
keeping him in close proximity 24 hours unleashing in the entire day,
While he would go on tours for fortnights on the trot;
many a times forgetting that he had procreated his sibling.


She had earned no money for herself;
neither was she ambitious for surreal fame;
her proudest possession being her innocuous toddler,
Was tenaciously involved in maintaining the plethora of tasks
circumventing her household;
refraining entirely to confront the monotonous world,
Yet being penurious; she proclaimed herself to be the richest in this world; as she was the perfect mother; what we could define in common parlance as the perfect housewife.



(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The perfect swim

 

When I swam in the blistering ocean of golden sun;
infinite arenas of my body
got disastrously charred,
Indispensable centers of breath in my body got
strangulated; and I
relinquished breath with great gasps of disbelief.

When I swam in the molten ocean of iridescent moon;
there was a temperate
warmth that engulfed my persona,
The immaculate white color submerged me in entirety;
and I felt uncannily
distraught as gaseous clouds obliterated my gaze.

When I swam in a tank of bubbling acid; there were
incoherent screams that
emanated from my mouth,
The radiant complexion of my skin transited to
briquettes of coal; and the
color of my luscious lips now resembled that of my
scalp hair.

When I swam in a river replete with frosty milk; I
cupidly devoured huge
mouthfuls of the same,
I emerged out exuberantly fresh after the swim; only
to be attacked by a
battalion of red ant and fish.

When I swam in icy streams; accumulated at the base of
the snow clad alps,
The formidable fortress of my teeth commenced to
repulsively clatter; and I
vociferously sneezed my nose; after a few seconds of
my swim.

When I swam in volatile electricity; my demeanor got
stabbed with a volley of
brutal shock,
Clusters of hair stood on my intricate scalp; and I
stared dumbfounded at the
scenario in utter bewilderment.

When I swam in a silver ocean of slippery mercury; I
rolled for marathon
distances without flexing my jugglery of muscles,
Although when inadvertently some of it slipped into
mouth; the blood abruptly
froze in my veins; with my persona transforming to a
deathly crystal blue.

When I swam in blotted water blended with traces of
obnoxious sewage; a fetid
stench flooded my nostrils,
A fleet of disdainful cockroach clambered up my shirt;
and the municipality
dumped me like a piece of discarded garbage.

When I swam in a curry of chalk powder; I had to put
onerous effort to keep
afloat,
There was a severe itching in the moist pearls of my
eye; and people mistook
me for a comedian of the highest fraternity.

And eventually when I swam in bunch of her silken
hair; I felt drowned in the
savage sea of her perpetual love,
I wanted this swim to go on for times immemorial; and
I found this to be the
most PERFECT SWIM.


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The perfect temperature

 

When I stepped on the tranquil surface of opalescent
moon,
The temperature that engulfed me was up to levels of
sustainable endurance;
though I felt a trifle uneasy.

When I trespassed through the territory of blistering
sun,
The temperature was astronomical degrees above
boiling; transforming my supple
flesh into briquettes of charred ash.

When I walked through densely sprawled meadows of the
wild forest,
The temperature that encompassed my silhouette; was
stringently fluctuating;
with the perilous night air stabbing my chest.

When I tread on the snow clad summit of the jagged
mountain range,
The temperature prevalent dipped abysmally below
freezing; instantly
solidifying volatile blood in my veins.

When I plummeted marathon feet under the surface of
sky blue sea,
The temperature I encountered was disdainfully cold;
and I felt imprisoned;
draped in a jugglery of water jacket blended with my
facial mask of
transparent glass.

When I ambled languidly through the scorching soil of
the vast desert,
The temperature that existed was abnormally erratic;
with hot winds piercing
me in the day; and equally cold air strangulating my
breath at night.

When I audaciously entered the cock pit of an
aircraft,
The temperature inside was tailored to ergonomic
degrees of comfort; with the
pilot emanating hostile stare towards my demeanor.

When I ran at rollicking speeds through an island of
molten lava,
The temperature in vicinity was like sizzling cakes of
overburnt stone;
chapping the dainty soles of my feet in entirety.

When I rolled ecstatically on infinite blades of
grass; laden with a fresh
cover of glistening dewdrops,
The temperature that radiated; sent shivers down my
spine; being a bit too
exaggerated for amicable comfort.

And eventually when I embraced her body in my arms;
with a vise like grip,
The temperature this time; was splendidly perfect;
incarcerating
the two of us in bondage of perennial love.


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The Photo of my God

 

Ordinarily I would have fallen on every step I took; stumbling scornfully on every pebble I encountered in my way; as I hadn't slept a wink since a hundred nights,
But today I had the capacity to traverse barefoot even till the peak of the Himalayas; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


Ordinarily I would have sat completely dumbfounded; relinquishing all capacity to embody a single alphabet on the sheet of paper; as my fingers had violent traces of deadly cancer,
But today I had the capacity to compile boundless volumes of ethnic literature in just a single day; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


Ordinarily I would have failed miserably in the exams; scoring an obnoxious zero in every section that I answered; as I wasn’t even apprised the slightest as to which subject was I appearing for,
But today I wrote all the answers at lightening speeds; handing over the answer sheet to my examiner even before he gave me the questions; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


Ordinarily I would have gasped for words; looked like a perfect idiot in front of people; as my half chopped tongue; miserably faltered to utter a word further,
But today I held millions thronging in the audience with my spell binding speech; drowning them in the eloquence of my songs; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


Ordinarily I would have sunk to the bottom of the ocean blending with the tiny fish; as the ship was struck by a tumultuous storm,
But today I swam gallantly against the treacherous waves; with a broad smile encompassing the contours of my face; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


Ordinarily I would have been pulverized to inconspicuous bits of dust; as the car I was traveling in; plunged head on into the deep gorge,
But today I swerved it through the winding lanes of the hill; conquered the zenith of the mountain escaping without a scratch; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.

Ordinarily I would have been a scattered pair of bones; sprawled in infinite directions; as I jumped from the edge of the 100th floor,
But today I stood on the ground with my shoulders upright; started playing cricket immediately after landing on the soil; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


Ordinarily I would have broken down into a billion droplets of sweat on witnessing the marching army; with the adrenaline circulating violently in my body; and the hair on my scalp standing up in trepidation; viewing the gleaming swords,
But today I massacred the entire battalion of warriors single handed; with the nonchalant ease of a sleeping prince; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket.


And ordinarily I would have hesitated several times on proposing to the girl I loved; falling in a timid stupor on her feet in front of her parents; every time I felt like whispering the same,
But today I banged the door of her home after midnight; revived the man sleeping dormantly in me for years; screamed in her ear; as well as to the entire world; that I loved her; as I had the photo of my God in my pocket


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The Plight of the four winged canvas

 

The painted strand of fiber is held rigid,
as its variegated counterpart clings to the air,
the cocoon of sapphire mist encroaches upon,
the sun dazzles amidst network of intermingled wrists.
the thread surges with upsurgent fervour,
the canvas races still further.
slow staccato movements of the hands,
nimble turning of the feet,
blaring noises kiss the air,
multicolored strips of plastic cut the glare,
with daintily adorned straw brimmed head gear.
the fibers collectively come abreast,
chorus in unison for equal strength,
the canvas sways wildly,
as the savage battle is put to true test.
the canvas finally snaps into multiple fragments,
floating with gleeful anticipation,
amidst the pulsating tension,
descending with effusive velocity,
with the backdropp of oleander being its lone saviour.
i mull quietly over the proceedings,
the four winged canvas falls with a thud,
gently caressing my large feet,
puts me in a trance; an everlasting sleep.



(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The Plate of love

 

When there was appetizing fruit placed on a plate of
scintillating silver; I
didn’t feel like eating,
I was a trifle too busy contemplating the price of the
plate; though there was
nothing wrong with the food.

When I was served immaculately ravishing noodles on a
plate of pure gold; I
didn’t feel like eating,
I was afraid of impregnating blotches on the plate;
when I caressed it with my
bohemian hands; though there were pangs of hunger
reverberating in my
stomach.

When I was served a blend of Italian cheese and
cucumber on a plate of crystal
studded with diamonds; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was intensely absorbed in decoding my reflection in
the glistening jewels;
though the sight of the delicacy made my mouth water.

When I was served a steaming curry of pungent soup on
a plate of intricately
chiseled marble; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was heavily circumspect on staining the marble in
the process of eating;
though the concoction looked immensely sumptuous.

When I was served roasted almonds juxtaposed with
honey on a plate of pure
sapphire; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was completely lost admiring the dazzling radiance
of stone; though there
were insatiable desires to tenaciously chew the same.

When I was served sliced onions wound with blood red
radish on a plate of
flocculent satin; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was skeptical that its contents would spill over the
sheets; though there
was a niggling pain in my fingers to snatch the food.

When I was served a bunch of succulent violet grapes
on a plate of exquisite
rosewood; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was mesmerized by the plethora of designs embossed
in the wood; though there
were grinding sensations in my fortress of teeth.

When I was served a chocolate brown plum cake strewn
with cherry on a plate of
voluptuous lotus; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was lost in the heavenly fragrance of the flower;
though my mouth watered
unrelentingly like a starved pig.

When I was served simmering chicken transposed with
green leaf on a plate of
snake leather; I didn’t feel like eating,
I was enchanted by the satiny complexion of the skin;
though my eyes popped
out of their sockets at witnessing the food.

And eventually when I was served a nutritious
agglomerate of curd and rice on
a plate stitched with threads of our impregnable love;
my beloved feeding me
with her dainty fingers,
I cupidly gobbled the same in no time; compensating
for my previous failures;
food had never tasted so tasty before,
As it did when she fed me recounting tales of her
childhood


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The power of my love

 

If you ventured to leap from unprecedented heights of
the building,
the power of my love would stop you from colliding
with the earth.
if you thought of consuming vials of deadly snake
poison,
the power of my love would transform it into golden
herbs revitalizing life.
if you planned to severe the bunch of blissful veins
on your wrist,
the power of my love would replace them with
impenetrable sheets of metal.
if you pondered on pursuing nefarious paths of
lechery,
the power of my love would freeze your footsteps
violently midway.
if you dreamt of driving your automobile at breakneck
speeds,
the power of my love would impregnate your persona
from all sides,
averting possible collisions and obstacles that came
your way.
if you walked pompously in blistering heat waves of
the sun god,
the power of my love would imprison you in a vice like
grip with blankets of
shady moisture.
if you tried and concealed from me indispensable
secrets of your life,
the power of my love would prompt you to vomit the
same with intense fury.
if you shivered convulsively feeling stabbed by
whirlwinds of fear,
the power of my love would make you sleep with
compassionate warmth flooding
every corner of your body.
if blood oozed from your slender fingers while
chopping vegetable,
the power of my love would rehabilitate your bare
wounds with supple skin.
if you felt tormented by irascible groups of
strangers,
the power of my love would assassinate their necks from
base tips of their
skulls.
if you whipped yourself in isolation and sheer
contempt,
the power of my love would convert your agonizing
cries into those of pure
ecstasy.
if you ever thought of leaving me,
the omnipotent power of my love would annihilate all
such thoughts,
before they even gained prominence in frigid pores of
your mind.


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
 
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