If You Cut a Tree; You Cut Your Own Mother – Poems on Environment , Wildlife , Mother Nature , Global Warming by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

45. STYLE 

 

Abruptly crisp; Sonorously manipulative; Astutely

target oriented; was the style of the checkered suit

businessman,

 

Vibrant breezy; Beautifully serene; Stupendously

animated; was the style of the gigantic trunk oak

tree,

 

Boisterously escalating; Tenaciously clashing;

Fabulously salty; was the style of the boundlessly

undulating ocean,

 

Impeccably innocent; Entirely oblivious to vagaries of

monotonous life; as innocuous as the virgin sea

shores; was the style of the freshly born and

incessantly sleeping child,

 

Viciously wicked; Perilously threatening; Furtively

clever; was the style of the acerbic tailed & lethally

venomous scorpion,

 

Bountifully colossal; Blissfully serene; Dynamically

fluttering; was the style of the unfathomable expanse

of azure sky,

 

Overwhelmingly verbose; Inundated with countless

alphabets; Encompassing every word on this planet; was

the style of the leather bound and enchantingly

embellished dictionary,

 

Tangily seductive; Voluptuously enticing; Ravishingly

beautiful; was the style of the young maiden,

 

Blatantly deplorable; Thunderously smelly; Obnoxiously

fat; was the style of the garbage coated and

pretentiously inflated pig,

 

Magically smooth; Uninhibitedly unrestricted;

Handsomely buoyant; was the style of the wide spread

and majestically gliding eagle,

 

Brilliantly flamboyant; Omnipotent & supremely

enthusing; Sizzling the entire Universe in the swirl

of its austerely fiery rays; was the style of the

Kingly Sun,

 

Disdainfully dirty; Mischievously poking; Large eyed

and petrified; was the style of the gargantuan rat

sleeping peacefully on a bar of immaculate cheese,

 

Gorgeously sweet; Insurmountably tantalizing; Heavenly

scented; was the style of the incomprehensibly spongy

and cherry tipped triangular cake,

 

Pertinently harassing; Relentlessly irate;

Perniciously and incorrigibly permeating; was the

style of the inconspicuously diminutive mosquito,

 

Preposterously large; Heinously diabolical; Mammoth

jawed and cannibalistic; was the style of the

stoically silver shark,

 

Rambunctiously busy; Rampantly darting around;

Mystically diffusing delectable globs of golden honey;

was the style of the electric paced and diving bumble

bee,

 

Poignantly sharp; Celestially tasting; Astronomically

reinvigorating; was the style of the profusely

aromatic morning tea,

 

Unsurpassably slippery; Wildly woven; Intractably

sticky; was the style of the splendidly captivating

and criss-crossed spider web,

 

Stringently barking; Irrefutably loyal; Blessed with

an astounding prowess to smell even the most obscure

of footprints; was the style of the fur coated sheep dog,

 

Unimaginably blessed; Engendering a person to march

forward all his life; Vivaciously pouring tears of

happiness and sadness at times; was the style of the

effusively turbulent eye,

 

Infectiously sweet; Crunchy & Delicious; Incredulously

exotic; was the style of the raw crystals of

scintillating white sugar,

 

Tumultuously freezing; More transparent than any

mirror; Shimmering ingratiatingly under milky

moonlight; was the style of the mountain of white ice,

 

Astoundingly cozy; Wonderfully compassionate;

Exquisitely sheltering naked skin from inclement cold;

was the style of the richly evolved and meticulously

stitched satiny quilt,

 

Insurmountably heavy; Extraordinarily abraded

demeanor; Remaining as stoical as dead even in bizarre

affliction; was the style of the bulky grey stone boulder,

 

Magnificently striped; Dispersed into shades of

mesmerizing beauty; Tremendously fascinating; was the

style of the opalescent rainbow,

 

Abusively dirty; Repugnant to virtually all mankind;

Abhorrently white sandwiched between glowing follicles

of scalp hair; was the style of pugnacious dandruff,

 

Deadly disastrous; Inexorably earth shattering;

Unprecedentedly devastating; was the style of the cold

blooded and killer earthquake,

 

Melodiously cascading; Clashing into a billion

globules of sparkling froth; Gorgeously caressing the

periphery of black rock; was the style of the

profoundly exuberant and gurgling waterfall,

 

Unflinchingly brave; An intrepid adventurer;

Compromising on nothing but the traitors scalp; was

the style of the true soldier,

 

Love without discrimination; Unquestionably sacrosanct

visage; Thoughts about her child solely lingering in

her mind; was the style of the Divinely mother,

 

Incessantly on the prowl; Ruthlessly assassinating

innocent heads for meager bundles of currency; Traces

of humanity evaporated into remote oblivion; was the

style of the cold blooded criminal,

 

Inevitably smiling; Instilling life in morbidly dead

veins; Heaps of talcum powder irrevocably sticking to

his face; was the style of the comically attired

circus clown,

 

Opulently glimmering; Overpowering everything in

vicinity by the tenacious power in its shine; Coined

as the richest source of human survival; was the style

of the fat bodied gold coin,

 

Deluged with blissful scent; Beyond perceptions of

captivating beauty; Sprouting like a magician from a

pond of dirty water; was the style of the prolifically

redolent and pink lotus,

 

Dolorously dull; Strangulated with gruesomely

contemptuous malice; Aligned with a massive battalion

of blood sucking termites; was the style of the

impregnably hostile prison cell,

 

Rosily pink; Intransigently titillating; Chattering

infinite times in a single day; was the style of

velvety soft lips,

 

A glistening thirst quencher; Pacifying scorched

chords of the throat beyond the mightiest of

perception; Guzzled by every palpable being till the

time he exists and even in times of after life; was

the style of pure and plain spring water,

 

Bombastically sleazy; Nictitating with a festoon of

garish lights; A clandestine retreat for hearthrobs

after midnight; was the style of the indefatigably

pulsating country discotheque,

 

Continuously ticking; Accurately depicting various

shades of life; Portraying to all the immense value of

time; was the style of the towering and century old

grandfather clock,

 

Lifelessly still; Nostalgically reminiscent; Placid

yet profusely demonstrative; was the style of the

decade old and dusty photograph,

 

Exorbitantly mounted; Embossed with several lines; The

ultimate chapter of destiny; was the style of the

scarlet complexioned rubicund palm,

 

Infinitesimally tiny; Blended with a rectangle and

square; Kissing the key umpteenth number of times in a

day; was the style of the intricately dainty enigmatic

keyhole,

 

 

Supremely tantalizing; Astonishingly curled;

Flirtatiously flashing; was the style of the gentle

and beautiful eyelashes,

 

Vehemently stinking; Freely available all day;

Enticing an armory of flies the instants it caressed

the ground; was the style of colorlessly trapped

saliva,

 

Astoundingly incarcerating; Playfully rollicking;

Acrobatically jumping; was the style of the adorable

and honey crested dolphin,

 

Satanically awesome; Taller than the skies; Ghoulishly

growling; was the style of the savagely stepping

devil,

 

Perpetually invisible; Able to cast its wicked spell

over innocent human beings; Lighter than the lightest

of thread; was the style of the lecherously minded

ghost,

 

Standing like a pillar in times of distress; Helping

without the slightest of expectation; Praying for her

brothers safety in whatever arena he stepped; was the

style of the unprejudiced sister,

 

And Passionately free; Invincible to all powers of

this globe; Immortally existing since centuries

unprecedented; Divinely blending palpitating hearts

together; was the style of love; infact the style of

the Omnipresent Creator.