Life = Death - Volume 2 - Poems on Life , Death by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

23. DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DO 

My eyes popped out in overwhelming exasperation; my sockets dancing restlessly on the floor,

My lips distorted themselves to incomprehensibly horrendous contours; biting themselves satanically as the moon blossomed to a perilously sinister glow,

My hair stood up like thunderbolts of stringent electricity; blazing fireballs of despondency towards the sky,

My fists curled into an insurmountably formidable punch; aching to thunderously batter arid wisps of breeze painstakingly blowing around,

I am sure that my treacherous plight must be the same as that besieging you my friends; when we just don’t have; anything to do.

My sweat dribbled down in cyclonic frenzy; proliferating by the unfurling minute; into fathomless oceans clashing against the walls of nothingness,

My teeth locked themselves in an immortally peevish embrace; chattering countless times in an indefatigable search for spurious solace,

My skin developed boundless goose bumps of profound disdain; shivering incessantly in the inexplicable trauma lingering in placid air,

My ears heard a volley of sounds which were entirely non-existent; kept inexorably iterating tunes which hovered countless feet beneath the graves,

I am sure that my treacherous plight must be the same as that besieging you my friends; when we just don’t  have; anything to do. 

My yawn reverberated more diabolically than the demons; as I tossed unrelentingly on my lackadaisically strewn four poster bed,

My shadow fluttered miserably in the domains of hell; shrinking its robust proportions to more inconspicuous than an ant; in its quest for treading on the

unexplored,

My eyelashes withered ferociously towards unruly soil; wanting to rejuvenate themselves thoroughly in the fabulously rain soaked mud,

My throat blurted a myriad of obnoxiously hoarse tunes; permeating through the realms of normalcy with its relentlessly hysterical shrieking,

I am sure that my treacherous plight must be the same as that besieging you my friends; when we just don’t have; anything to do. 

My stomach belligerently puked out foul matter from the inner most recesses of my intestines; contracting to as thin as an infinitesimal whisker; struck by body blows of mind-boggling desperation,

My fingers scribbled an unfathomable battalion of nonchalantly incoherent literature; swished menacingly to emboss the most hideously invidious forms in loose sand,

My neck swirled in infinite directions as the clock ticked; profusely confused by the happenings that unleashed themselves in the surrounding,

My heart sank all its beats in my acrimoniously pointed boots; my breath and soul searched frantically for the paths on which the Sun austerely shone in its fiercely flamboyant shine,

I am sure that my treacherous plight must be the same as that besieging you my friends; when we just don’t have; anything to do.