Choice

Do I choose wrong?

Do I choose right?

Or do I choose Choice?

They tell me, “It's not nice:

This choice of Choice.

It's almost a vice,

If the choice is Choice.”

But without this choice,

I can't hear my voice,

My feet freeze like ice,

Imagine my plight!

To breathe, to live,

Is not a vice,

It's a slice of life

Pretty and nice.

To soar in the sky,

To fight with might,

It's a slice of life

It's my choice.

And so I shall choose,

Neither wrong nor right,

For none shall suffice.

I choose Choice,

For it's not a vice,

It's a slice of life,

Pretty and nice.

Floral treat: Acrylic on canvas

Taxidermy

My friends suggested the words taxidermy, blind, whisper, rhinoceros, predator and miasma. Here's the poem I wrote:

Taxidermy

The little corner shop

On the Fifth Avenue:

Some painted letters,

Their faded hues.

I squint and read:

'Taxidermy'.

Stuffed and mounted!

Oh, dear me!

I step inside:

A blind salesman,

“Hello, how're you?”

I whisper to him,

“I'm fine, thank you.”

On his table,

A head, enormous:

Rhinoceros!

I look around:

What place is this,

Where predator and prey

Stand stiff and still!

The miasma of fur,

The glassed eyes,

The fake teeth,

The feral expressions.

How beautiful they are!

How beautiful they were!

I watch him caress

The back of a cheetah.

“For 8000 dollars,

you can take her.”

Her smooth hide,

My curious fingers

O, what a creature,

Wish I could take her!

I turn to leave,

The blind man chuckles,

“She doesn't go anywhere

I look after her,

She watches me here.”

Those Memories of Love

Once again, I asked my friends to throw me some words. They came up with love, gooey, petrichor, acceptance, prudence, challenge, power, exfoliate, prayer and insolence. This is the poem I wrote:

Those Memories of Love

O those memories of love,

How they stick,

Like gooey chocolate!

Their fragrance,

Like petrichor!

O those memories of love,

Their tales of acceptance,

Of tolerance,

Of patience,

Of prudence.

O those memories of love,

How they live!

The power of dreams,

The prayers of praises,

The soft caresses.

O those memories of love!

How I wish to forget,

Their insolence, I challenge,

Their calluses, I exfoliate.

Punk'd: Sketch pens on paper

Killing a dream

Bubbles of happiness

The comfort of solitude

The pleasures of the soul

The making of a dream.

The froth of waves

The sifting sand

A swimmer's gaze

The depths to fathom.

Plunges he right in,

Towards the coral floor

Oh those bright fishes

And spiny sea anemones!

The weeds, the grasses,

Like meadows in spring,

O what colour 

To the sea floor they bring!

Then comes a shadow

Large and mysterious

Casting its darkness

The fishes, disappearing.

The roar of thunder

A flash of lightning

A tall wave, crashing

A swimmer, struggling.

Determined the man,

Heads towards the shore,

As rain comes pouring

A swimmer, struggling.

Finally he finds,

Sand beneath his feet,

An unsteady gait,

A disappointing wait.

And wait he does

While noon turns to dusk

A spirit dampens

A dream implodes.