[a month of some accumulative scribbles...repititive chaotic.. this]     fam(i/a)niac    

   
   
   
 fam(i/a)niac    #1 ceylon tea note  
   
   
   
her fleeting dusky dravidian frame    
approaches some steady pereira    
over a corner green exhibit, ceylon    
plantation and specialty tea stall    
   
an ingrained nostalgia    
ancient    routes  roots      
digs deep across kandi kathirgamar   yazhpanam    
to that sincere schoolgirl years’ warmth- in an idealistic    
neighbourhood- Sherif Appa’s 9 pm bbc Ilangai    
streams aloud in husky news frequencies    
   
his eloquent eyes too brighten    
with a familiarity needing no mention    
   
though some slight and obvious    
uncomfortable undertones    
sweep electric, perhaps    
   
on a bloody recall that would largely    
mean non-personal    
   
her silken lotus-pink desi attire    
in golden-woven floral, diamond-embed    
eyes on her neck-tight bandhani dupatta    
sketches frame in glassine translucencies    
   
and as his dazed eyes resumes back  
in a blatant horizontal headshake  
   
all that he says is a kind a prescription    
a tea ritual move grueling  and devoted    
than the Japanese even  
   
suits well her inner bird of solitude  
a famine-hit dusky cuckoo    
in a volunteered to destined melancholic steering
   
of  kadunvviradham daily holy fasting    
ardently in not even a forgotten splattered  
water droplet-oasis over the hardening teeth
 
of the fatally skulling countless nameless refugees    
shruken traceless in the desperate asylums of death    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 fam(i/a)niac    #2 satyam.   the truth.   ever  
   
   
   
could breathe within    
   
the myselves    
in a deathful abundance : burnt    
half-burnt corpse, tar, tyres, smoking    
graveyard, hungry aghoris, vultures    
all around in the brutal waiting    
   
choking within  
taken by doom almost unaware    
   
stunned nerve ends go black and blank    
lungs uprooted from tracheal crash downs  
   
   
   
how it all seems a joke, your sudden    
gotten act together in that one insipid    
afternoon’s wholesome murder    
of the myselves    
   
how you were a disguised nothing that    
became such ruthless weighing...your    
brusquely administered words, and    
then  the more severe    silence    
and then         the disappearance    
   
   
[faith           made currencies and weaponries    
in your sweet-smooth-poisonous exchanges    
until you knew    
no more of truth you could stand    
in your sabotaging spiced-plunder routes    
gone nowhere now]  
   
   
millennium millipedes inner  
rather took in a buffering whole    
in their simplistic winding unto curl discs    
those brittle and true to form    
self-probing chakra formations    
   
after all, when your such fugitive vanishings    
had come back yet again in lightning fast    
turnaround times with heightened    
virulence, this time your unethical vines    
in intimate tactical veils of sweetspoken flexibilities….  
      …no wonder these hatching dormant discs too  
contracted at least nanobits of your intelligence    
and resurgence if your wits want to assume so..  
   
turning as mortars of, oh but to your    
annoyance, same old truth    
   
…firing whatever range ballistic missiles    
signed with just pleasant and easing smiles  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
fam(i/a)niac    #3  needless to say its not love  
 
   
   
the language    
its embodiments    
in your blatant gestures    
shines through    
the eyes    
their intentions    
   
you are welcome this day    
   
as always you dare not to show your image    
as a steady single sturdy beacon    
   
your bastard uncle shakuni  
holds hand you this time too      
and, indifferentially dumps in the fattening junks    
in lumpful spitted words and whatever more    
in his solo sitting stint    
after he signals or rather permits you out  
   
to the high voltage theatrics    
   
at the core of her panchaloha sanctum sanctorum in flaming suns    
taken at your such criminal ease as blind playground of baked lies    
where the noblest idols of her tender petals    
are thrashed as quick disposable cheap brass  
   
 
even before this    
your enacted emetic play [you are rather known for
  
you inglorious bastard of the same kind]
  
throws her aback into storming pieces  
of the worst feeling of a crushed flower ever  
   
how you uprooted murderously    
reddish earthen throbbing thickety​ roots of love  
in your blink of the time demeanour    
winking prompts  
   
   
ah..enough .  she exists no more as you get ousted    
or is it that thinline divide    
   
of voluminous knowing of your intentions and still    
letting you in –her steelsoul borne in extremeties    
   
and    
   
that of childish innocence still hoping your bit of a godliness    
if at all to magnify in at the least faintly felt proportions  
if not in the hoped magnanimity?    
   
   
love beaten to death by your whorish mind  
turning ‘it’ whore.     it.   her    
   
flesh you squeeze to ooze in and out    
doesn’t sing and imbibe to your beats    
   
curse of clotted bleeds and wholesome rigors    
you carry upon you, whilst your accomplice  
still sits bumping in the midhall’s  couch    
plans how much more to swindle    
all in the name of    
   
love  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
p.s: just an accumulative vent out. mayhap needs lot of edits n feedback to set it good...or runs scopeless, this  chaotic soul in its whatever search..