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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 Color of my cheeks

 

The color of my cheeks was whiter than the innocuous
Moon; when I just got up from sleep with the first
rays of ethereal dawn,

The color of my cheeks was more crimson than the
poignant rose; when the girl of my surreal dreams;
flirtatiously glimpsed at my countenance,

The color of my cheeks was a morbid yellow; when I was
enveloped by the ominous swirl of ghastly fever,

The color of my cheeks was a tangy blue; as I reached
the shores after swimming voraciously for marathon
hours in the vivaciously salty ocean,

The color of my cheeks was a mischievous chocolate
brown; after I rhapsodically trespassed through a
slippery slurry of mud; and the rain thunderously
pelting down,

The color of my cheeks was a brilliantly shimmering
yellow; after I stood for gigantic hours under the
sweltering midday Sun,

The color of my cheeks was an incorrigible pink; as I
entered my dwelling after spending countless hours
sandwiched between colossal slabs of raw ice,

The color of my cheeks was a sparkling golden; after I
scrubbed them voraciously with stringently pungent
cakes of fat antiseptic,

The color of my cheeks was blacker than the deplorable
coal mines; when I starved myself for weeks on the
trot; sat in an obsolete corner sequestered
wholesomely from the outside world,
The color of my cheeks was an overwhelmingly ashen
grey; as I heard the news of the ship sinking; the
treacherous tale of my compatriots losing their lives
under cold water,

The color of my cheeks was greener than the curled
grass; when I sat under the placid shade of the tree;
with its astronomically foliate branches flooding my
senses with rejuvenated fervor,

The color of my cheeks was more transparent than the
scintillating mirror; when I was in a mood to convey
the most surreptitious of thoughts candidly,

The color of my cheeks was a fiery red; when I marched
forward in volatile anger; vindictively resolving to
teach my erring adversary the lesson of his life,

The color of my cheeks was more blended than a
rainbow; when a battalion of girls kissed them; all
embellished with myriad textures of swanky lipstick,

The color of my cheeks was a trifle hazy; as I freshly
passed out through the conglomerate of puffy clouds,

The color of my cheeks was a pathetic violet; as I
consumed frugal amounts of venom; to gently experience
the process of extinction,

The color of my cheeks was pragmatically normal; when
I intensely concentrated on my work; paid heed to
nothing else but the process called practical and
routine life,

The color of my cheeks was celestially heavenly; when
I had just taken birth; exhaled my first breath on
this mesmerizing planet,

And the color of my cheeks disappeared in entirety;
floating like an inconspicuous thread into remote
oblivion; as I breathed my last; as I was buried
fathomless feet in my grave after being declared
dead….



(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The Creator was present in each heartbeat of Immortal Love…

 

Neither was he solely of the intransigently sermonizing Christian; tirelessly prostrating infront of the magnificently embellished idol of ‘Jesus Christ’,

Neither was he solely of the fanatically resolute Muslim; who indefatigably immersed himself all night and day; into the sacred literature of the ‘Quran-e-Sharif’,

Neither was he solely of the nimble bodied Hindu; who intractably chanted the name of ‘Rama’ an infinite times; in a single unabashedly simpleton minute,

Neither was he solely of the altruistically renounced monk; who sat till the absolute end of infinity; infront of the impeccably white statue of ‘Gautam Buddha’,

But; the Omnipotent Almighty Creator was perennially present in every ingredient of blood; which belonged to all those who ubiquitously disseminated and forever bonded with the spirit of Immortal Love….

1…

Neither was he solely of the irrevocably faithful Christian; who let a boundless opportunities in his life go astray; if they insidiously transgressed against the scriptures of his God,

Neither was he solely of the timelessly kneeling Muslim; who wasn’t prepared to leave the insuperable walls of his Mosque; renouncing every worldly pleasure of glorious existence,

Neither was he solely of the selflessly robed Hindu; who never went even an infinitesimal whisker against his stringent culture and tradition; who slept; ate and prayed only on the deserted steps of the quaint temple,

Neither was he solely of the nomadic Buddhist; who relentlessly roamed from one of the deciduous forest to the other; in his perpetual search of the invincible form of ‘Buddha’,

But; the Omnipresent Almighty Creator was perennially present in every whiff of breath; which belonged to all those who forever undertook upon themselves the mission of healing every despairing life and heart; with the panacea of Immortal Love….

3…

Neither was he solely of the unimpeachably pious Christian; who dedicated every instant of his existence; ardently rotating the venerated rosary through the knots of his hands,

Neither was he solely of the immutably single focused Muslim; who fervently believed that all religions; beliefs; nationalities; led to the ultimate Heaven of ‘Allah’,

Neither was he solely of the devoutly expressionless Hindu; who experienced the power of the entire Universe; simply by staring at the portrait of his ‘Bhagwan’; sculptured in pink stone,

Neither was he solely of the unceasingly silent Buddhist; who tried his very best to assimilate and practice the paths of his undefeated God; the undying imprints of the peace-loving ‘Buddha’,


But; the Omniscient Almighty Creator was perennially present in every beat of the heart; which belonged to all those who were the unflinchingly fearless harbingers of love; even in the land of the ghoulishly massacring demon…..

4….

Neither was he solely of the unfailingly earnest Christian; who spent an infinite of his lifetimes; lighting the candles of his majestic church; in his profound admiration and appreciation of the Lord,

Neither was he solely of the wondrously enchanted Muslim; who uttered the name of ‘Allah’ at every juncture of life; and even whilst agonizingly abnegating from the heavenly physical form,

Neither was he solely of the passionately olive skinned Hindu; who kept the name of each one in his kin as ‘Bhagwan’; to timelessly safeguard himself against every evil spirit and be in due salvation of his God,

Neither was he solely of the beautifully terse Buddisht; who spent every unfurling instant of his life; kissing the holy footprints of the impregnable ‘Gautam Buddha’,


But; the unassailable Almighty Creator was perennially present in every voice; which belonged to all those who unconquerably sang the song of unbiased friendship; who unnervingly and forever defended the Universe of Immortal Love…

©®copyright by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved
 
»The Cry of the heart

 

The cry of the lion was majestically thunderous;
although it died as the minutes rapidly unveiled; with
the stupendous tranquility of the forests taking
wholesome control,

The cry of the clouds was insatiably voluptuous;
although it faded after a while; as the Sun
Omnipotently enlightened even the most infinitesimal
entity in neighboring vicinity,

The cry of the shark was royally piercing; although it
diminished almost as soon as it had come; with the
unfathomably undulating wave wholesomely drowning it
into an ocean of mesmerizing froth,

The cry of the eagle was exuberantly aristocratic;
although it vanished surreptitiously from the sky in
an ethereal flash; as cyclonically untamed maelstroms
perpetuated the canvas of the panoramic valley,

The cry of the nightingale was melodiously enchanting;
although it blended with the aisles of nothingness
after a while; as the triumphantly trumpeting
elephants insatiably marauded the meadows; left; right
and rampant center,

The cry of the gloriously unflinching warrior was
supremely ecstatic; although it coalesced with
threadbare mud in an ethereal instant; as an
unsurpassably unending tirade of pugnacious bombs;
brutally plummeted upon him from the enemy camp,

The cry of the waterfalls was harmoniously enchanting;
although it dried up as quickly as flashes of
lightening thunder; as the tyranny of the
acrimoniously sweltering day evaporated every bit of
it; into wisps of obsoletely disappearing oblivion,

The cry of the bee was boisterously swarming; although
it soon mellowed to an inconspicuous trace of its
original self; as the scent of the magnanimously
everlasting lotus unconquerably enshrouded everything
above hard ground,

The cry of the seductress was ebulliently tantalizing;
although it disappeared into the ingredients of
nothingness like a trice of a bullet; as the silken
magic of the titillating night soon gave way to the
hideously monotonous day,

The cry of the clocktower was stringently meticulous;
although it quickly subsided into a corpse of morbid
meaninglessness; as the lanky arm struck past the
wonderfully reverberating hour,

The cry of the rainbow was resplendently vivacious;
although it fleetingly hid in its shell of sequestered
oblivion; as the blanket of poignantly crimson clouds
soon took a insurmountably bountiful grip of the
fathomless sky,

The cry of the dewdrops was beautifully exhilarating;
although it pathetically evaporated into bits of open
space; as soon as the Sun blazed to its domineeringly
profound radiance in the boundless sky,

The cry of the leaves was mystically seductive;
although it transformed into a diminutively subdued
mellow; as the victoriously advancing gusty wind now
became a song of charismatic love,

The cry of the newly born was Omnisciently effusive;
although it became a fugitive impression of its
ownself; as the years advanced and the web of
inevitably insidious commercialism took disgusting
control,

The cry of the brain was fantastically unfathomable
and incessantly exploring; although it transited into
an inferno of lackadaisical disparagement; as the
savagery of uncouth society salaciously overpowered
every intricate arena of survival,

The cry of the conscience was irrefutably honest;
although it sporadically manipulated itself every now
and again; as existence was of the most
quintessentially paramount importance amidst the pack
of satanically lecherous wolves,

The cry of breath was charismatically sensuous;
although it veritably finished in limited amounts of
unfurling time; as the strokes of destiny eventually
had their unavoidably final say,

But the cry of the heart was immortally unassailable;
come what may; passionately shuddering even centuries
immemorial after wholesome diminishing of the bodily
form; perpetually uniting with God’s most pricelessly
Omnipotent beats of love….





(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The Creator was everywhere

 

Be it the grandiloquently colossal castle; or the
fetidly stinking gutter hosting a fleet of obnoxious
cockroaches,
Be it the mystically shimmering Moon; or the
sweltering sands of the mammoth desert,
Be it the fathomless expanse of the azure blue sky; or
the minuscule nest of the piquant beaked woodpecker,
Be it the stupendously scented rose; or the yellow
mushroom decaying to oblivion in the heart of the
hills,
Be it the enigmatically deep and uncannily marvelous
dungeon; or the contemporary match box shaped town
square,
Be it the festoon of resplendently twinkling stars in
the cosmos; or the clammy interiors of the dingy
little and sordid hut,
Be it the electric paced stallion galloping through
rubicund farmlands; or the potbellied tortoise
traversing with Herculean effort on the hard ground,
Be it the astronomically huge ocean impregnated with
flocks of blue whales; or the small trace of saliva
lying desolate in the obsolete attic,
Be it the tumultuous streaks of pugnacious white
lightening; or the diminutive beehive camouflaged
sedately amidst the trees,
Be it the conventionally advanced computer; or the
clerk who hardly knew how to sign,
Be it the impeccable tufts of cotton sprouting in
blissful tandem from the fields; or the solitary rope
suspended morbidly from the ceiling,
Be it the incredulously fast paced aircraft kissing
the air faster than the speed of light; or the hunch
backed camel yawning embarrassingly under the
gargantuan cactus,
Be it the mountain laden with astonishingly
scintillating jewels from all round the continent; or
the droplet of blood oozing down the skin,
Be it the most invincible man trespassing on this
earth; or the astoundingly small infant who had just
emitted its first cry,
Be it the densely inhabited jungle with majestically
roaring lions; or the soft toy of plastic standing on
just a brick,
Be it the delectable meal of spell binding caramel
chocolates; or the nail embedded pathetically in the
broken wall,
Be it the superlatively rosy tongue chattering
incessantly all throughout the brilliant day; or the
stone which lay in perpetual silence beneath the lanky
grass,
Be it the island which perennially received the most
tenacious rays of the Sun; or the blind mans world
completely obfuscated from the slightest trace of
visible light,
Be it the balloon pompously inflated with
incomprehensible amounts of air; or the morose tyre
lying completely squashed like frigidly white ice,
Be it the entire army marching valiantly towards
inevitable victory; or the impoverished beggar begging
for alms every minute,
Be it the glittering gold watch ticking indefatigably
round the clock; or the placidly still statue which
didn’t speak or move at all,
Be it the loudest echo ever heard on this globe; or
the inaudible whisper dying before it even came out,
Be it the thunderously domineering shadow of the
towering edifice; or the ethereal shadow blending
every now and then with the dolorous darkness,
Be it the revered interiors of the adorable dwelling;
or the utterly disgusting and abhorrent steps leading
to your mundane office,
Be it the crackling flames of fire that leapt
ebulliently towards the coalition of emerald clouds;
or the shivering piece of freezing snow dangling from
the Christmas tree,
Be it the assembly of magnificently radiating mirrors
bundled up in an enamoring heap; or the distorted
strand of moustache floating like an insipid speck in
the atmosphere,
Be it the most remarkable of memory that could
conceive every possible situation to unfurl on the
trajectory of this planet; or the mockingly dumb worm
writhing on brown soil,
Be it the impregnable gates leading to the
presidential rooms; or the inconspicuous little
matchstick feeling soggy and despondently gloomy after
the rains,
Be it the unbelievably big bed stuffed with
ravishingly compassionate softness and warmth; or the
acrimonious thorn awaiting surreptitiously for
innocent flesh,
Be it the ingratiatingly sweet voice of the voluptuous
nightingale; or the pertinent mosquito brooding in the
profoundly hollow well,
Be it the most formidable stick in the bodyguard's
hands; or the finely pulverized pulp of ripe banana,
Be it the overwhelmingly blissful paradise harboring
the angels; or the timidly remorse voice of hell,
Be it the longest fabric ever woven and beautifully
stitched; or the threadbare string of dilapidated
shells orphaned mercilessly on the sea shores,
Be it the heart beating turbulently engulfed in the
flames of unrelenting passion; or the incongruous
follicle of hair sadly detached and lying as still as
the mud,
Be it the ingenious key able to crack through the
labyrinth of intricate lock; or the ludicrous buffoon
who kept falling even before he could rise,
Be it the luscious periphery of seductively alluring
lips; or the bland water incarcerated in small jugs of
wood,
Be it the awesome congregation of inscrutably swirling
waves crashing splendidly against the rocks; or the
dismally melting jelly in the austere heat of blazing
afternoon,
Be it the unfathomable peak of Mount Everest; or the
limp marble rolling on flat soil,
Be it the animatedly leaping Kangaroo with its pack of
siblings in its bulging pocket; or the perpetually
still photograph hanging in the sleazy dressing room,
Be it the exorbitantly costly shoes adorned by the
King as he walked on the streets; or the nakedly
petite foot coalescing with dust each time it kicked,
Be it the poignantly sharp kitchen knife ripping apart
through vegetables with nonchalant ease; or the blunt
sand with no taste of its at all,
Be it the rivulets of perspiration dribbling
tantalizingly through exotic skin; or the brutally
wounded territories of bruise that were left uncouthly
unattended,
Be it the beautifully embellished crown of the blue
blooded prince; or the mortifying bed about to split
into splinters on which the laborer slept,
Be it the most skillful doctor's clinic which was
inundated with a host of invaluably countless
medicines; or the doorstep of the patient attacked by
a mysteriously inexplicable disease,
Be it the wholesomely fascinating magician conjuring
mind boggling tricks on the stage; or the ordinary
soldier who wasn’t acquainted the slightest with the
art of bombastic sophistication,
Be it the handsomely heroic stag staring at its
reflection in the mesmerizing persona of transparent
water; or the horrendously ugly eunuch smoking his
life into relentless oblivion,
Be it a man following staunch religion all day and
every single night; or the furtive castaway who didn’t
know what was God at all,
Be it the most invincible of abode above ground; or
the evanescent corpse buried boundless feet beneath,
You name it and he was there; and you didn’t have to
walk marathon miles to reach the temple; church;
mosque; or monastery to worship him; you could very
well close your eyes and pray to him wherever you
wanted; for the Almighty Creator was Omnipresent; the
creator was everywhere….

(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The darker side and the brighter aspect

 

The darker side of blindness was an unrelenting
camouflage of austere black,
while brighter aspect of the same was a sensitive
tuning of the hollow ear
drum.

The darker side of a wounded bruise was gushing
streams of blood flowing,
while brighter aspect of the same; was firm resilience
to anguish and pain.

The darker side of the ocean was drowning to death,
while brighter aspect of the same was; a cluster of
striped fish swimming.

The darker side of squashed vegetable was clouds of
insidious stench
emanating,
while brighter aspect of the same was blissful manure
for an artillery of dead
shrub.

The darker side of a computer was a total entropy of
handwriting,
while brighter aspect of the same was crisp outlines
of calligraphy ornately
printed.

The darker side of the twin horned cow was that it was
fat and
indolent,
while brighter aspect of the same was that it suckled
gallons of fresh milk.

The darker side of the sun was acrimonious rays
cauterizing tender patches of
skin,
while brighter aspect of the same was complete
fumigation of the water logged
environment.

The darker side of a candy chocolate was a plethora of
cavities in mouth
palette,
while brighter aspect of the same was waves of
felicity submerging a person in
euphoria.

The darker side of moon was that it diffused feeble
beams of opalescent
light,
while brighter aspect of the same was that it
illuminated gruesome darkness
with rays of hope.

The darker side of residing in a jungle was immense
fear of savage beasts,
while brighter aspect of the same was bathing in
crystal waters of the virgin
river.

The darker side of being a dog was being treated with
loads of contempt and
malice,
while brighter aspect of the same was ferociously
growling canine teeth at
strangers.

The darker side of death was traumatic pain and
tumultuous sorrow,
while brighter aspect of the same was to give someone
a chance to live.

The darker side of love was infinite perils lurking in
the society,
while the brighter aspect of the same was relishing
the feeling of being
cared.


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

 

the day she sobbed with unsubsiding hysteria,
i would try and assassinate the reason for her agony
from its very existent
roots.

the day she slept barefoot; bearing the tumultuous
onslaught of winter winds,
i would cover her trembling body with furry skin of
mountain bear.

the day she bruised her skin; with prolific streams of
blood oozing out,
i would kiss it with passionate warmth; leaving it for
it to heal with bonds of
our omnipresent love.

the day she sequestered herself in realms of
isolation,
i would make her violently laugh to exit from vigils
of solitary boredom.

the day she sneezed incessantly; with heat soaring to
Herculean proportions in
her body,
i would prepare sizzling hot cupfuls of incense
tea; for her to get some
respite.

the day she complained of her temples throbbing,
i would massage her scalp with deft strokes of my
palm.

the day she giggled freely with a pack of lecherous
strangers,
i would scold her for betraying me; with my anger
rising to unprecedented
limits.

the day she seemed exhausted to raise her feet,
i would hoist her on my shoulders to make her witness
the outside world.

the day she screamed at me for arriving late,
i would try and pacify her anger by tickling her
vociferously.

the day she seemed hapless while knitting me a
sweater,
i would try and execute fervent attempts to solve her
dilemma.

the day she was struck viciously by deathly fangs of
the garden snake,
i would extract the venom with my teeth; bringing her
back to consciousness.

and the day she said she wanted to terminate our
relationship; leaving me
forever,
i would simply have no other option but to die.


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The day I didnt breathe

 

The day I didn’t wear clothes; I shivered
uncontrollably in the austere breeze of uncouth
winter,

They day I didn’t eat food; I found myself miserably
slithering towards the corridors of precarious
starvation,

The day I didn’t write poetry; I found my fingers
virtually paralyzed; and the blood in my robust veins
metamorphosed into a morbidly colorless liquid,

The day I didn’t bathe; I felt pools of disdainfully
fetid sweat; stab my impeccable visage more than a
billion treacherous thorns,

The day I didn’t sleep; I felt daggerheads of
insurmountably fatigued exasperation; assassinating
each iota of my blissfully mental peace,

The day I didn’t wink; I felt the romantic youth in me
die an obnoxiously famished death; all mischief in the
atmosphere pathetically desert me like a piece of
dilapidated garbage,

The day I didn’t pray; I felt like a diabolical
monster; drifting further and further away from the
sacrosanct countenance of Omnipotent God,

The day I didn’t lie in the lap of my mother; I felt
as if the world had come to a brusque end; there
wasn’t an iota of humanity prevailing in any quarter
of this colossal Universe,

The day I didn’t swim; I felt as if the insatiable
exuberance in my bones had died a profusely
asphyxiated death,

The day I didn’t discover; I felt as if my
incredulously augmenting fantasy; had ruthlessly
blended with ethereally dwindling horizons,

The day I didn’t dream; I felt that life was a
barbarically monotonous workshop; with each hour of
the day relentlessly restricted to the realms of
parasitic office,

The day I didn’t realize; I felt horrendously pompous
and pretentiously inflated; with my conscience
whipping me to profusely apologize to the mesmerizing
winds outside,

The day I didn’t drink water; I felt the tumultuously
scorching agony in my throat; compelling me to swoon
like withering fish on the ground,

The day I didn’t tease my sister; I felt as if I
sitting astoundingly close to my grave; although I was
just on the threshold to commence life,

The day I didn’t gaze at the resplendent stars; I felt
as if my world was intransigently confined to the four
bare brick walls of my dwelling,

The day I didn’t respect my elders; I felt that I was
boisterously irascible fly; about to be inevitably
squashed by the sword of righteousness,

The day I didn’t listen to my heart; I felt as if I
had horrifically failed in every attempt of mine;
although I stood towering on the absolute pinnacle of
life,

The day I didn’t wholeheartedly love; I felt there was
no reason to survive; started prematurely on my
journey to the heavens; without the tiniest
insinuation of Almighty Lord,

And the day I didn’t breathe; there was no time for me
to feel or romanticize about hell or heaven; for I lay
like a wholesomely mute corpse; infact to cut the
story short; I was irrefutably dead….




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

 

Steaming coffee in the tall mugs was growing cold,
long table cloth was developing blotches of brown mud
stain,
the ground floor was engulfed in heaps of disdainful
dust,
sparkling glass tops displayed infinite scratch marks,
a basket of fresh fruit now lay squashed in neglect,
utensils of stainless steel had transformed into pale
bronze,
rich portraits portraying war scenes hung listlessly
from the wall,
heaps of literary books lay buried under a mountain of
sand,
pitchers full of mineral water now bred a cluster of
fungus,
roof light bulbs had formed a fountain of cracks,
ivory doors of cupboards were smudged with bird
manure,
wooden legs of furniture had crawling termite,
the mirror on the staircase gave ghostly reflections,
wild stalks of grass projected from the infertile
soil.

he had bid farewell to the earth decades ago,
lived life like a thorough eccentric when alive,
his mansion now lay deserted,
tucked within the picturesque plains of the tropical
forests,
the desolate palace was worth a handsome fortune,
if only someone ventured through dense territories of
the jungle,
unveiling the monastery standing solitary in its
mystical charm,
in a camouflage of parasitic creepers trying to suck
blood from the wall of
century old brick.


(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
 
»The Dress in Pure and Powerful Black…

 

The dress to unsurpassably thrill her; lift her to infinite altitude from her nimble feet; as she was plaintively traversing through bland patches of erratically cut green grass,

The dress to uncannily excite her; metamorphose even the most disparagingly infertile of her moods; into a eternally ardent and royal proliferation,

The dress to timelessly enchant her; rouse even the most cadaverously limp follicle of hair on her skin; to beyond the epitome of Everest; in the revitalizing stillness of the atmosphere,

The dress to majestically silence her; quell even the most insouciant of her apprehensions; with the invincible magic of profound charisma and compassionate royalty,

The dress to perennially magnetize her; perpetuate even the most ephemerally fluttering of shadow; to follow and forever entwine with the essence of your personality,

The dress to inimitably impress her; tirelessly evoke the most inscrutable tingling in her flesh; an unstoppable yearning in her chest to embrace every quarter of your demeanor,

The dress to uncontrollably triumph her; attain perpetual victory over her silken countenance; as she nimbly surrendered even the most ethereal of her intimate senses to your unconquerably handsome swirl,

The dress to timelessly conquer her; leave an intransigent impression of your wondrously fervent personality; upon every globule of fiery sweat that dribbled down her ecstatic skin,

The dress to effortlessly liberate her; wholesomely emptying even the most disastrously maiming of her tensions into sheer nothingness; as she solely floated in the aisles of untamed desire,

The dress to inadvertently capture her; eventually gather complete control over even the most oblivious insinuations of her shadow; as she helplessly melted deeper and deeper into the blacks of your piercing eyes,

The dress to inexplicably provoke her; trigger the dormant labyrinths of creative energy entrapped in her spirit; to unlimitedly fulminate into an unceasing festoon of miraculous innovation,

The dress to undyingly fascinate her; foment her to fantasize beyond the realms of the mundane; and till the last cloud that hovered on the blissfully golden horizons,

The dress to unchallangably win her; infallibly draw even the most imperturbable part of her persona towards your undefeated masculinity; even in the most invisibly flickering of light,

The dress to pricelessly cast a spell on her; make her minutely feel even the most unexplored of your vibrant imagery; through heart-renderingly poignant telepathy,

The dress to reincarnate the artist in her; granting fresh life to the haplessly dead tombs of virility in her soul; as she unabashedly let nectar to slip from each pore of her body; and blend with every single ingredient of the atmosphere,

The dress to effulgently impregnate her; replenish every aspect of her drearily impoverished existence; with everything that was beautifully and merrily abounding on this uninhibited planet,
The dress to insuperably propose her; with a surety of nothing else but ‘yes’ rebounding back from the swish of her tongue; as majestically kissed the farthest finger of her queenly hands,

The dress to phlegmatically reborn her; inevitably make her rise from her languid corpse; unfathomably flustered by the sheer size and enigmatic shades of your larger than life personality,

Was. O! Yes undoubtedly was. The Dress in Pure and Powerful Black. In the Pure blackness of the voluptuously embellished and sensuously blessed night….

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»The easiest way to provoke me

 

The easiest way to provoke a madman; was to recount to him the incidents of his life which actually triggered off his madness,

The easiest way to provoke a politician; was to vehemently oppose the policies he proposed,

The easiest way to provoke a roadside beggar; was to keep reminding him incessantly of his poverty and impoverished state,

The easiest way to provoke a school teacher; was to give preposterously wrong answers; to every question she asked,

The easiest way to provoke a gardener; was to furtively keep plucking the fruits from his trees; driving him beyond the point of imaginable exasperation,

The easiest way to provoke a lion; was to snatch its prey with astounding ease; right from the center of its jaws,

The easiest way to provoke the musician; was to blurt out cacophonic tunes every time he felt; that he had established himself into a perfect rhythm,

The easiest way to provoke guests entering the dwelling; was to blend your oily scalp hair; in the tea you hospitably served them,

The easiest way to provoke the mammoth elephant; was to leave a battalion of red ants next to his feet; when he was overwhelmingly relishing his meal of green leaf,

The easiest way to provoke the peon in the office; was to order him to serve you a glass of water; as soon as the poor fellow had delivered the previous one,
The easiest way to provoke the soldier; was to let the enemy pass from under his nose; camouflaged in the color of the surrounding; to evade the most ingenious of his senses,

The easiest way to provoke the monstrous shark; was to shoot its jaded body with a fleet of lanky harpoons,

The easiest way to provoke a clown; was to burst into hysterical sobs, when he performed his comic acts,

The easiest way to provoke the priest; was to disturb his profound concentration; when he was lost in reciting the name of God,

The easiest way to provoke the magician; was to steal away the wand he used to execute magic & transform all stone into gold,

The easiest way to provoke a writer; was to cynically view his work; tell him blatantly on his face; that he wouldn’t earn even a penny out of the infinite volumes of literature he had taken pains to pen down,

The easiest way to provoke the Almighty creator; was to violate his laws of existence; drift on a nefarious path that eventually found him decimate you to raw ash,

And the easiest way to provoke me; was to lay eyes on my beloved; try and cast a spell on her already engaged heart; which either found me killing the person who dared to do so; or in case if I failed; bidding goodbye to this earth forever…



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