Out-of-tune

Making a mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read ,

I turned my back to it

And surrendered, yet again,

To the pleasures I can't deny.

I close my ears,

No, I don't want to hear

My nagging voice-small but

Pinching to the core.

I know what I am doing

No, I don't want to know

With my nose deep into

The yellowed pages

In an attempt to sip

A gulp of the mastery

Ah! the tantalising taste.

My left hand blinkers my vision

I don't want to see the mirror

It mocks me, imitating my actions

With back turned

To the mound of clothes and bags

With books I ought to read.

A finger on the right

Steadily following the dancers

Moving to the tunes of distant lands

Dancers in black,

Charming me to the distant lands.

My little voice sings along

Out of tune, about mounds of clothes

And bags with books.

Don't stop dancing as yet dears

Let me have another sip.

The manna tastes different now

It has turned rancid now.

My back to my love

My mistress unhappy,

A sacrilege to them

Or myself- I might never know

I might never want to know.

Tectonic revenge on the statue of unity!

Built on shaky grounds
Your statue, tallest in the world
Of lifeless concrete.
They might agree but I don't.
Enlisting peoples with guns and might
Do not a nation make.
I won't join the chorus
When the country sing 
Paeans to the iron man.
I shall laugh and blow
The snot from my sinuses
When Nature takes her course
Taking you down in one shift
Of the tectonic plates
As if in one amorous turn
The whore of GB road
Shook you off like a used condom
From her stained shamed sheets.
You deserve no more than a blowjob
From the castrated eunuch monarch
Who wrote off lives and dreams
Of a throbbing populace
Leaving behind throngs of patriarchs
Moral guardians of an assumed identity
Bastards born out of wedlock
When the thugs left their impregnated
Wide-eyed whores in charge
Of sissies who know no more
Than singing in temples
Or shooting down their kins
With bullets or words
It matters not when bloodshed
Leaves astray amputated spirits
In piles on heaps of dung
In some cesspool where
The dogs and starved bastards
Fight over pieces of shit
Dragging sanity down into the whirlpool
Of the stinking sludge of pandemonium.

I hate you, AG!

You can Howl,
You can growl
All you want, I don't care
All you need, seriously, I don't care!

Your jazz is jarring,
The thought of you irritating!
You left me in a haze,
Leaving me in a daze.

You can howl for Solomon
Or cry for Ineton
You can grovel all you want
For me you're an infidel cunt!

All I wanted was to know you
And if all went well, befriend you
But you left me wanting to cry
Go fuck yourself, just try!