Most quixotic birds hardly elude the bickerings of the bickering shores
Sentry at noon tears apart the conundrum
At dusk
Most mercurial machismo from the golden rays of sunrise tis sunset
Hardly fires bland and blank in the ribaldry and bigotry of tremulous times
With these spittles of holy curiosity times barely blink in the rhapsody of dreary lulls and ignited deeds of derring dos
Blind stars waiting for the engravure of drudgery hours into golden hills
The stalest malice evaporating the direst maul of encapsulated weeds
Haply tinker I thee o though golden mist hung over my lance of ruptured reticence
That lark arising from the gales of crying earth and sullen brood
my weary winces a renegade of my betternoires and sabber rattling traduces this defiant dusk
Then as I aimed for pebbles shall I gloat at the godforsaken dawn?
Plead that insolent eyes unflinchingly not castigate winces at maul of your egregious dimples
Of vacuous ages hung on the sordid facing of cracking walls
To malign the obscene jungles of these mauls
dissipate conscience of machismo than a mere a prime muse of the crucifix
where big ghosts in barking loud screams and shrieks in barking clouds
Those who frightens the destined cats refrains from smearing the desert grails of destined horse
The sands of Sahara an inclement sand dunes
where dreams die and archipelago of lust eyes demise the concretes at their best.
even as they mourn the placid noise in placid haste
they pour eulogy on the beautiful dews of placid songs,
as long as the sheep and cow gulp the flowing across the bought and stares
resplendence may not elude the art of nature
where smitten decay says there's no chance for gutter minds
that you think the race has not be run like the gourmets have not been fed,
that you barely know why the best tune never fits in the best music
wailing walls of time encrust itself with the golden hills of impenitent and impeccable fortune
blessed with evolution of arts,the clouds of gloom raft on floating seas of massive hays
pundits go berserk why the wallop laments its fortuned falls
the mirth of playful passion not encroached on the mother's womb of tiring horses
here life converges on this same satirical comedy as lifetime most engaging trysts
the same streams of consciousness runs from giddiness of mortal veins into the broader spectrum of lifetime awesome billows and immortal glows
whose radiance shoots in bittersweet joy from the dusts of the earth to numberless membranes of whittled grasses and frittered feet of sands
across this tumultuous waves of flowers and resilient plants
still we rise by lifting the weights and measures
that balkanise us from the down pour of our artesian wells
to trod the very dirt to sweep the radiance of Mays with convincing palms and perspiration of the golden hills
tis all the body smears and scars and stigma are met with grandiose fragrance of the perfume of Arabia to smell a new dawn in the cantankerous freedom of the docile birds of passage,
as life fadeth away like pitiful roses of empty flowers
immortality at calembour is never forlorn shrieks in the armpit of Mothernature,
o heart like a caliculated caliduct at the roseate of calithumpian calidity
that leaps impetuously to behold the nature's roses and the gliding clouds of the haunting sky
o the heart that leaps you to design the posterity like a calligram,
Is just the genesis of the semantics and clairvoyant in the morning seeking gloat of golden hills
they don't grow old tis the meadows returns in every spring of beautiful boats
a resonating consignment at sea
as the beautiful roses from the hands of beautiful queen
caliginous clouds not yet abate when the
palms of kismet is far from the groom
shavelling stead of callant's cheeks in the calmato of calmative stance,
oft a benediction to stake a disgruntled sport for calliopsis of calliopean drift,
enroute the trajectory of golden hills.
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