Mighty Falafel

Half past 11, overtime,
I'm overworked, underpaid
"Why doesn't the clock strike sooner?"
I constantly whine

The most exciting part of my day
Is racing across the street
And grabbing that last falafel
Before the cart speeds away.

The elevator bell
I can't believe it still works
I must be earlier than usual
Oh, glorious falafel.

An empty park bench!
Why do I feel so lucky?
I check my soles for gum
A sticky mass I wrench.

Who is this woman? Why the haste?
I see through her clothes
And feel like a pervert
My eyes down her waist.

Unknown to the self, a tale is made
She's a part time hooker
Part time day, part time night
At least someone's getting laid.

I wake up from a sordid slumber
Did I imagine it all?
Who dares awaken me?
The mighty sound of thunder.

I stare from where I stand
Watching the midnight lights
On a murky lake
I see the shadows expand.

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Now playing: Poets Of The Fall - Carnival Of Rust
via FoxyTunes ----------------

All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind

Goodnight, Tonight, Goodbye

Goodnight, Tonight, Goodbye

I hear crickets,
The crackling wood,
Clinking glasses,
I don't know if I should.

Unclear intentions,
Loving you more or less,
Il Fantasma Tra Noi,
He haunts my senses.

I laugh at your bad jokes,
In shameless pretense,
Pledging words,
That make no sense.

I know it, but you don't,
As we waltz on the floor,
That I already have,
My foot out the door.

I think I love you,
I should probably try,
But I want out,
And I don't even know why.

I search for the right time,
In between sips of wine,
Words, they spill out,
"My dear Clementine..."

I got what I wanted (I think...),
I even turn down your embrace,
I don't ever want to see,
Your ashen face.

I storm out,
Welcoming the rain with respite.
And silly crayons,
They paint your face white.

I broke your heart tonight,
And I'm acting coy,
Even though I want to scream,
Intoxicated with joy...

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NOTE:
- 'Fantasma Tra Noi' is the name of a beautiful song by Lacuna Coil.
In Italian, it means "The Ghost Between Us".
- The title of this post is an excerpt from the lyrics of "Apollo I: The Writing Writer" by Coheed & Cambria.
- This poem is pure fiction. Capiche?

All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind

Anarchy! - A poetic rendition of George Orwell's '1984'

ANARCHY

The once great nation portraying a guise,
Under the incessant rain of revolting lies.

"FOR YOUR GOOD" - They said, they watched every room,
They funneled the rise of a voyeuristic doom.

- The philanthropic intention -
- Of a fatalist federation -

The left hand - Chaos, the streets it ripped,
With a good hand they wielded a formidable grip.

Their words - They bore a modicum of truth.
Promising infinite freedom for the degenerate youth.

- For regional rile -
- And the cities it defiled -

"Within these walls, you shall find,
The desinence of all mankind".

With those last words, escaped, his breath,
The pragmatist died a bloody death.

- We drowned him in a sea -
- Of calamity -

Fight fire with fire. And brick. And stone.
Let them realise we are not alone.

March the walls with courage and strife,
We will rewrite the chapters of our right to life.

- The puppets we played -
- On threads, Frayed -


- Arvind Ramesh
(2nd Januray, 2008)

All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind

A Haiku Story...

I don't know if I'm allowed to (mis)use Haiku to write whatever the heck I want, but who's judging?!?


Hey! Stop judging!

Cigars, highs and everything nice

I see clouds of smoke
Smooth leather, mahogany
A burning finger.


The expensive suits,
Thirteen cars and eight chauffeurs
Money can't buy love


Strawberries & cream
Tender lips and two warm hearts
Just a wistful dream


The scotch is over,
The seconds hand is too loud
I am all alone


The glass has fallen,
The clock has struck it's last hour
Befriending silence.

All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind

The Unfortunate Spider

There was once a spider that lived in a porcelain home.
Safe and secure in a big white dome.

Spinning his web, placidly did he sit.
T'was a pity I didn't foresee my emergency visit.

The deed had to be done, but I didn't want him to perish.
The dance of the spider, a futile fight to the finish.

I nervously withheld my breath, was he foe or friend?
I was already grinning, for the ordeal was about to end.

He held on to his ever-strong web, he was going to live today.
And I gulped as I absentmindedly flushed him away.

A sad day for all spiders, an insignificant funeral.
But that's the story of how the spider died in a Public Urinal.

All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind

Haiku

Sun sinks in the sea
The birds have left the island
Open up, red earth

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Two feet on the ground
He follows her soft voice
Taking his first steps

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I want to come first
Having to die anyway
Me, the first snowflake

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The birds hide in trees
The forest has turned silent
Hunting Season starts

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The plants are thirsty
The cat has to hunt for food
An old lady dies

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Hands grip the handle
Beads of sweat are trickling down
The train has long gone

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Looking through the blue
Silently screaming for help
Wishing I had gills

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A blank white paper
The rancid taste of pure ink
There's nothing to write

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Two steps and a trip
Seven human fingers
Ten empty shot glasses

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Ear muffs, shattered glass
Resisting the urge to boo
It's Karaoke Night

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Alright..
So the themes for most of them are obvious, which is contrary to the Haiku styles I've witnessed where, the harder to figure out WHAT it means, the better it is.
I thought of writing the themes before each piece, but I figured it ruins the effect.

If you can't figure out a particular theme/mood ask me in the comments section.

By the way, this is my first attempt, so what I grasped from the concept of Haiku could leave a lot to be desired.
Please don't let it be my last. (a.k.a be nice)

Cheers!

All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind

Little Billy

Grandma Hooch sat on the porch,
Drinking her grain scotch.
Not bothering to watch,
Billy burning her cat with a torch.

When little Billy was twelve
He could curse really well.
Though he never got it right until,
He could properly spell.

Jesse was a young girl, very frail,
And every chance he got, without fail,
He pulled at her pigtails.
Just to hear her wail.

Was never a time he wouldn't lie,
That he wasn't smokin' on the sly.
Or that he'd never seen girls changing,
With the hey-hole to his eye.

Played hooky from school,
Played the teacher for a fool,
Spent his class hours on a corner stool,
For saying history was a bunch of bull.

He crossed the border beyond craze,
He needed help to manage,
His heinous crimes of rage,
At the expense of his innocent age.

His dad locked him up in the closet,
For a long time, till he lost it.
Billy drew a line and crossed it.
All he did was lean back and spit

I didn't like it, he was my brother,
But Billy'd gotten a bit madder.
He told me he's have much rather,
Killed his own father.


All written text is copyright of the writer/owner - © Arvind