PENMIND MEDIA & CREATIVITY

‘Whenceafter’, I wrote to the whole world, at last I secured a nine to five. Sir Paul, consider my case and tell heavens to redefine dignity of labour, Look at, my lord is in sight and I must thrill this whole hector. yes, before his arrival. Lest he drive me out of his site. My lord takes pride in being my debtor. He gracefully withholds my monthly reward. He became an earthly rainmaker. Pours on me my pay only when I'm in drought. My lord, is this really an holiday? What is it with holiday thrilling? Shall this serf ever go on a break? Mayhap, retirement is my finish line. ‘Hugk hugk’-this cough I’ve got is nasty. But, no leave until the break of my spine. Oh! I labour aiming to earn a living. Verily, verily, reverse is the case. Foot note: I dedicate this to all who labours on a low paying job; who endures continuing delay of salary.  \

Your majesty, Eureka! I know the right route there down the one path we all ought follow. Ah me! Never be resolute young ‘kurd’ your preparatory age is yet maleficent. I shall acquaint proper data into your mentation to reform the data formed in your common presence-With my genuine soul always remember life as a coin. These are the wiseacre of the intelligentsia Good-Evil Beauty-Beast Esoteric-Superficial Cosmos-Microcosm Apollonius-Dionysius Pythagoras-Socrates Tut! Tut! Tut! your majesty, my perplexity-young Kurd-wait- split the coin, you'll find perspectives, therein lies other routes.

Hope of thought Lingers on the shade of the moon Fragrance of skin induces strenght Knot of innocence awaits clueless-cutting Password and watchword tarry in silence. Blade of pleasure Ran through the curtain of the night Tears-smiles are scored sonorously Gateway of gods crumbled at the stain of blood Imbecilic vengeance buries branches of almond. I sing of change That perishes in horizon of promises Claps of lepers to break coconut-tide Beautiful rose of familiar heart is milling star with staff On the land of Lilliput mighty are buried in grass-envelope. Darkness hung at the corners of springing beatitudes Native of the night propagates prosperity of confusion Hunting dog goes deaf at the wilderness Chariot chatters at horses’ sliding-flees A race of tussle, Night promises not to come again But dusk refuses to handover to the rising sun Wealth of the night inhabits the purchasing power of morning-market Blood is drinkable wa