Life = Death - Volume 4 - Poems on Life , Death by Nikhil Parekh - HTML preview

33. CONTROL IT 

Control it; or prepare to loose all your sense of overwhelmingly sagacious prudence,

Control it; or prepare to blend like a piece of frigid chalk in profoundly bedraggled soil,

Control it; or prepare to slacken your invincible stranglehold on the periphery of precious life,

Control it; or prepare to swoon down inevitably towards the ground; as the heat was no longer conducive for your nerves to bear,

Control it; or prepare to uncouthly erase the ocean of blissfully nostalgic memories forever from your intricate mind,

Control it; or prepare to plunge down into the fathomless deep valley; after successfully clambering up the astronomically gigantic summit,

Control it; or prepare to punctuate gaping holes; in your impeccably synchronized plan of unconquerable triumph,

Control it; or prepare to embarrassingly slip on a road embedded profusely with obdurate spikes,

Control it; or prepare to let the indiscriminate flames of blistering Sun; char you to infinitesimal fragments of insipid ash,

Control it; or prepare to accept pathetically crippling defeat; when unprecedented triumph was just a hair away,

Control it; or prepare to plummet below the diabolical dungeons; for the ultimate spin of your life,

Control it; or prepare to have blissful entities traversing down the streets turn for your blood; like an untamed pack of parasites,

Control it; or prepare to start counting backwards all over once again; after reaching the colossally unfathomable numeral of infinity,

Control it; or prepare to succumb like a mountain of ice; infront of salacious lechery and blatantly stinking lies,

Control it; or prepare to wander in diminutive wisps of obsolete oblivion; after the planet had discarded you like a piece of shit,

Control it; or prepare to become an impoverished victim of your own idiosyncrasies; trembling uncontrollably on the abysmally heinous crocodile,

Control it; or prepare to get mercilessly entangled into the most treacherously complicated web; in which ironically there was no grizzly haired spider,

Control it; or prepare to take the perilous onslaught of the hideously menacing devil on your lungs; pulverizing them to worthless sand under its satanic might,

Control it; or prepare to relinquish the love that mattered the most to you; in your destined quota of life,

And control your anger; or prepare to perpetually imprison yourself infinite feet beneath your grave; even when you were still breathing and more exuberant than when God had given you new life.