Er...it's actually like..it's um...not exactly poetry...

Apart from doing nothing in particular, one of my favourite pastimes is writing. It's quite fun and I enjoy it- especially poetry- trouble is, I'm not very good at it :( But anyways, when i can, i do mesh one or two words together and come up with a forest of litter that no one, not even I understands. However, I have been published...............in my school magazine......of which i was an editorial board member, anyway-----so that doesn't count really. To fulfill all righteousness anyway, I thought that as this was MY blog, in which I write what I want to write, it would be naked without a poem of mine. So I'm chucking this in out of nowhere...

It's kinda untitled -but also kinda called Stranger-
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In your own dwelling,
A stark naked whale lurks
In the shadow of pins and needles,
Silently living off your every breath
In the comfort of your grey couch.
Your secrets are the black prints
On the front-page, lucid as the
Galago’s cries at midnight.
Your blood is running low
And you can’t tell why
Yet her teeth are blandly stained
With blood. You call her by

First name, awe at her deceitful smile,
Watch your life disintegrate to rotten crumbs,
Yet answers lie beneath the canopy of your own
Nose, concealed by the cloud of your breath.

Open your eyes to see beyond the greyscale
Of reality, betray the doctrines of charity,
Rid yourself of consuming diseases. I too have learnt
That battles of today will not be the battles of
Tomorrow, but if action is delayed, there will be no
Tomorrow.

The things I have been shown
If only you knew them as well,
But you are blinded by thick eyelids,
You still walk in the light,
In the blessed light,
But so does darkness.

The words of a dying man
Are always worshipped after death;
I pray I will not have to travel far
‘Ere you see the gravity of my tongue,
‘Ere you hear my blunt utters-

Madam, she has to go.