Hide and Seek - Part 8 - Rhyming & Non Rhyming Poems by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

15. SLAB OF PEANUT BUTTER 

When I rolled languidly in it; dabbling my feet as incoherently as I could,

The entire exterior of my skin acquired a brilliant yellow tinge; with satiny soft crusts of cream adhering to me in sticky unison.

When I made a pillow of it and slept; my head completely engulfed within the ravishing aroma of milk,

I relished the exorbitant softness; the mesmerizing effect of sponge in proximity with my dreary bones.

When I threw molds of it frivolously at my counterparts; splashing the same; exerting insurmountable force of my wrists,

They retreated back in utter disbelief trying to digest the incredulous turn of events; but in the end profoundly enjoyed the golden globules cascading slowly down

their cheeks.

When I applied parsimonious amounts of it to the lackluster wall; smearing the

blend with equanimity using my incongruous hands,

The dilapidated room suddenly displayed fresh signs of illumination; an enchanting glow now permeated through the web of cloistered darkness.

When I rubbed it across my dry lips; vigorously spreading it all over till my fingers ached,

My smile now looked all the more accentuated with a rosy sheen; and my moustache radiated an everlasting perpetual glow.

When I dropped it inadvertently on the floor; not bothering to put it back in its compact container,

The scenario to witness the next morning was stupendously horrendous; as there

was a battalion of black ants merrily sleeping; smacking their tentacles in satisfaction.

When I dipped my fountain pen in it; making sure that the entire frame remained submerged in for quite sometime,

I had tumultuous difficulty while writing script; as my fingers inevitably slipped; and I failed miserably to grasp the pen; let apart embossing literature with it.

When I tried dancing in it; slithering my body as freely as the mystical serpent,

I soon changed my visions about holistic life; as I toppled head on towards the ground; buckling under the island of frictionless wax.

When I scrubbed my scalp tenaciously with it; instead of using contemporary soap,

The aftermath caused my hair to shoot up in straight clusters; it was incorrigibly difficult to retain back their normal shape; and I resembled a lunatic having just landed from planet mars. 

Although when I scrupulously coated it on my morning bread; roasting the dough

over rosewood logs inhabiting the fireplace,

My slab of peanut butter tasted the best; and I devoured mighty chunks to satiate my gluttony; licked every scrap of it adhering to the pellucid bottle.