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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 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 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 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 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.
 
»The power of my mothers milk

 

I might have consumed just an infinitesimal pint of
it when I was an impeccably oblivious infant; hardly
acclimatizing my taste buds with its eternal
fragrance,

I might have consumed just a diminutive fraction of
it when I was an innocuously inarticulate infant;
hardly allowing it to blend with my freshly formed
streams of crimson blood,

I might have consumed just a mercurial sip of it when
I was a pristinely princely infant; hardly allowing
its Omnipotently heavenly goodness to settle in the
corners of my discovering mouth,

I might have consumed just a parsimonious rivulet of
it when I was an incongruously disheveled infant;
hardly letting its miraculously insuperable
iridescence pacify my remorsefully traumatized thirst,

I might have consumed just an evanescent pinch of it
when I was an incoherently unruly infant; hardly
absorbing its everlastingly mesmerizing goodness in
the corners of my miserably asphyxiating throat,

I might have consumed just an ethereal speck of it
when I was an inconspicuously measly infant; hardly
feasting on its impregnably heavenly aura; to my tiny
heart’s content, ’

I might have consumed just a fleeting bead of it when
I was a fretfully wailing infant; hardly savoring its
astronomical majesty with my crusts of minutely formed
fresh teeth,

I might have consumed just a fugitive stream of it
when I was a incessantly screeching infant; hardly
realizing the spirit of Omnipresently egalitarian
humanity; handsomely embedded in it,

I might have consumed just a disappearing mist of it
when I was an incoherently feckless infant; hardly
aware of its invincibly healing touch; as I all I did
was sleep all day and moonless night,

I might have consumed just an insipid globule of it
when I was an indefatigably crying infant; hardly
gulping it even a trifle of it properly down my
teeny-weeny throat,

I might have consumed just a transient molehill of it
when I was an ungainly staring infant; hardly bothered
about its unconquerable nutritional value; as all that
mattered to me was my toy cradle; toys and sleep,

I might have consumed just an ephemeral amount of it
when I was an illiterately uncivilized infant; hardly
envisaging the perennial armor of unflinching
tenaciousness that it would enshroud me with; once it
coalesced perfectly with my blood,

I might have consumed just a non-existent pinch of it
when I was a ludicrously squealing infant; hardly
comprehending the Omnipotent compassion behind its
dribbling towards my toddler lips,

I might have consumed just an invisible follicle of it
when I was a preposterously unsuspecting infant;
hardly placating the disastrously emaciated bowels of
my tiny stomach with its gloriously godly flavor,

I might have consumed just a minuscule shadow of it
when I was a discordantly groaning infant; hardly
allowing its Omnipresent charisma to percolate through
my severely teething gums,

I might have consumed just a trailing gulp of it when
I was a frantically searching infant; hardly feeling
its regally marvelous goodness; enriching every pore
of my newborn slimly skin,

I might have consumed just a vanishing potion of it
when I was a haughtily pampered infant; hardly
imbibing its timelessly blossoming resplendence; as I
uncontrollably kicked every conceivable object in
vicinity; with my miniature feet,

I might have consumed just a passing cascade of it
when I was a quietly snoring infant; hardly having the
sense to appreciate its magically formidable and
euphorically endless tenacity,





O! Yes, I might have consumed just a fleeting fraction
of it when I was an incoherently trembling infant;
hardly feeling it as it timelessly blessed every
aspect of my existence; for infinite births more of
mine,


But just that diminutive droplet of it; just that
unnoticeable speck of it which I had unknowingly
consumed; was enough for me to metamorphose the
complexion of this estranged earth once again into a
paradise; was enough for me to tower like the inferno
of inimitably blazing truth for times immemorial; was
enough for me to altruistically live and let live for
a countless more heavenly lifetimes,

Such pricelessly immortal was the indomitable power of
my; ETERNAL MOTHER’S MILK….



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

 

You might ferociously abuse it for being monotonously
threadbare; disdainfully infiltrating the whites of
your eye; with the truculently blowing winds,

You might indignantly kick at it in your times of
inexplicable frustration; at times profusely wounding
it with the uncouthly cold-blooded tip; of your
spurious shoes,

You might heinously spit on its shades of
compassionate brown; barbarically trampling it left
right and center; to insanely diffuse the abominable
tensions circumventing your brain,

You might place its value as capriciously invidious
specks of grit and stone; hardly ever casting even the
most fugitive of glance towards its poignantly amiable
periphery,

But remember; irrespective of your caste; creed;
color; blood or race; you all will inevitably blend
with its sacrosanct belly after abnegating your last
breath; such was the power of unassailably Omnipotent
and bountiful mud…..


1….

You might ominously abhor the fact that it lay abreast
your dwelling; proving a remorsefully indigent
mismatch to your pillars and porch of stupendously
embellished gold,

You might acridly puke out your food in utterly
shocking disbelief; on the pretentiously worthless
pretext of it harboring ungainly dust,

You might treacherously stab it with unrelentingly
salacious strokes of your gleaming knife; frantically
searching for surreptitious canopies of pricelessly
glittering gold,

You might propagate it as being lugubriously
meaningless; fretfully stagnating in dustbins of
forlorn isolation for centuries unprecedented,

But remember; irrespective of your caste; creed;
color; blood or race; you all will inevitably blend
with its sacrosanct belly after abnegating your last
breath; such was the power of immortally Omniscient
and spell binding mud….

3….

You might ruthlessly mold it into fathomless sizes and
shapes; just to flex the muscles of your irascibly
blood soaked palms,

You might relentlessly castigate it for its despicably
impoverished demeanor; drive your cars like an untamed
prince over its innocuously wailing contours,

You might sleazily sell it to the most derogatorily
manipulative strangers; inundate your pockets with
scintillating silver; while bulldozers tyrannically
razed it to construct edifices that sailed haughtily
towards blue sky,

You might lackadaisically dump all your decaying feces
from your abode into its silken carpet; laughing every
side of your body out; as you triumphantly feasted
upon its victimized integrity,

But remember; irrespective of your caste; creed;
color; blood or race; you all will inevitably blend
with its sacrosanct belly after abnegating your last
breath; such was the power of pricelessly divine and
everlasting mud….


3….

You might tirelessly ostracize its sordidly ungainly
complexion; for horrendously tainting the outlines of
your spotlessly bombastic and bohemian feet,

You might christen it as dreadfully morose and
perniciously ghoulish; as it fostered your
pathetically wavering shadow even in the most
brilliantly sparkling Sun,

You might at times construe it as your worst enemy; as
its unwitting undulations made you disastrously
stumble and kiss a world of despondently diminutive
dirt,

You might call it blasphemously adulterated; as
organisms of all shapes and fraternities; perpetually
embraced its rudimentarily scented skin,

But remember; irrespective of your caste; creed;
color; blood or race; you all will inevitably blend
with its sacrosanct belly after abnegating your last
breath; such was the power of impregnably Omnipresent
and humanitarian mud….


©®copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. All rights reserved.
 
»The Punch

 

When I punched a bag replete with mud; overflowing to the brim with bountiful food grain,
There flew tones of dust in the still air; of which some settled in my nose; partially obscuring my vision.

When I punched an inflated balloon in its midriff; infinite molecules of gas escaped in fury,
There was an obstreperous sound produced; which almost ripped apart intricate arenas of my eardrum.

When I punched the colossal sized melon with my fists; the shell broke open into incommensurate halves,
A myriad of fleshy splinters flew everywhere in the air; and the slimy juice languidly cascaded down my immaculate face.

When I punched the solid baked brick; exerting tumultuous pressure against its navel,
Shards of disdainful concrete entered my crystalline eye; alongwith a series of fracture that enveloped my knuckle.

When I punched the heavyweight champion in the solar plexus; there was a conglomerate of fetid sweat droplets that stung me with alacrity,
His esteem got thoroughly provoked and he pulverized me to dust displaying his overpowering brawn.

When I punched biscuits of pure gold; glittering impeccably in the enchanting moonshine,
My fingers acquired faint tinges of yellow; and I profoundly regretted the wastage that I had produced.

When I punched the venomous reptile that hung from the tree; trying to frivolously fondle with its skin,
The monster bared its fangs in vindication; hissing vociferously and eventually inserting its deadly poison in my flesh.

When I punched the assembly of scintillating mirror; it diffused into a myriad of minuscule fragments,
My reflection now appeared comically distorted; and droplets of crimson blood oozed from my palms as an aftermath.

When I punched the power horn in the truck; applying unrelenting pressure from my wrists,
There was a deafening noise that was produced; instantly overpowering the natural ethos prevailing in the atmosphere.

And finally when I punched my heart; using the full power of my hands,
There echoed only once voice; there seemed only once face; and there seemed only one god; and all of them were my mesmerizing beloved.
 
»The rain and my newborn baby daughter

 

The rain was uninhibitedly untamed; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
kicking left; right and center; in her diminutively blessed cradle,

The rain was Omnipotently pristine; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
mischievously tossing in unadulterated joy on the tufts of majestic
green
grass galore,

The rain was magically mitigating; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
miraculously ameliorating me of my most horrific despair; with her
innocuously fluttering eyelashes,

The rain was eternally liberating; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
naughtily smiling amidst her spectrum of teddy bears; as if there was
not
even the most infinitesimal trace of tension on this fathomless
Universe,

The rain was perennially fructifying; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
perpetually proliferating into unparalleled festoons of happiness;
every
unfurling minute of inscrutable existence,

The rain was unbelievably colorful; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
unfurling into the infinite shades of mystically emollient life; every
time
she alighted her pristinely nimble foot,

The rain was timelessly life-yielding; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
perpetuating a paradise of unsurpassably undefeated newness; in every
direction that she cast her immaculately dancing sight,

The rain was pricelessly inimitable; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
unconquerably enamoring even the most farthest quarter of heaven; with
the
twinkle in her rhapsodically infallible eyes,

The rain was the ultimate gift of the heavens; and so was my new born
baby
daughter; whose cries of stupendously charismatic freshness; spawned a
civilization of boundless beauty; till times beyond infinite infinity,

The rain was the most virile cistern of optimism; and so was my new
born
baby daughter; unprecedentedly subliming even the most cadaverously
deadened
corpses; with her unflinchingly raw energy to exist,

The rain was brilliantly unfettered; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
expressing the innermost feeling of her heart till the ultimate
pinnacle of
the sky; whilst the salaciously manipulative planet moaned and
miserably
groaned outside,

The rain was Omnisciently blessing; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
altruistically wishing the greatest of success even for the most
treacherously ribald of her foes; wholesomely oblivious to the
sanctimonious
varsities of this corrupted planet,

The rain was unassailably fragrant; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
metamorphosing even the most capricious iota of evil into a sky of
unshakably peerless truth; with the divine righteousness in her tiny
soul,

The rain was eclectically artistic; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
weaving a cosmos of unparalleled beauty; with the egalitarian
compassion in
her eyes for every caste; creed; race; color and tribe,

The rain was timelessly victorious; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
forever winning the hearts of every conceivable entity on this
unceasing
planet; with her impregnably selfless love for all living kind,
The rain was ubiquitously a superstar; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
transcending every boundary of worthless discrimination; to tirelessly
exult
in the profoundly unstoppable glory of panoramic creation,

The rain was fearlessly intrepid; and so was my new born baby daughter;
poignantly exploring every exhilarating path of life; interminably
following
nothing else but the inner most voices of her benign heart,

The rain was universally amiable; and so was my new born baby daughter;
compassionately coalescing with any entity around her venerated visage;
who
gave her a gregarious smile,

And the rain was insuperably Immortal; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
disseminating only the beats of love; love and Immortally princely
love;
every time her godly heart throbbed in her tiny chest…


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