Dabble dabble, ramble ramble. I am but foolishly churning out words.
Moan, groan, sown, thrown the rhymes that make for my verbal dressage.
Masquerading in a beautiful face to hide the featureless visage,
I can only continue on in the hopes you fall for the trickery.
I think before I write, but I write not what I think.
I am the Walrus.
I whisper sweet things in your ears and conjure magic and enchantment in my sentences.
Be fooled! Believe in my apparent substance, believe that I have a fair morsel of intellect.
For I know nothing. Then again, what exactly is 'nothing'?
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Thursday, December 01, 2011
Love or/and Lust
Believe me when I say that I have never met a girl like you before. Yet don't believe others when they say that, for they only mean it in the literal term wherein your DNA and chromosomes uniquely tell you apart from the entire 6 billion of us. For I speak not in the literal but dabble in the highly elusive world or euphemisms and metaphors. I call not an apple an apple, but a red pearl that gently falls off mother nature's tree. I speak forth ideas where its concretisation loses the essence and spirit of its meaning. Hence, believe me when I say I have never met a girl like you before.
In me, a rather insatiable urge to talk to you, in me, a rather repressed hesitation that there is but one shot in the barrel of opportunity, for whence discharged, has no chance of recompense. In me, idealistic urgings I extinguish with pessimism and a defunct disdain of hope. I am pained and you are ignorant. But yet, I am more than willing to have it the other way too. So I guess it has to be lust.
In me, a rather insatiable urge to talk to you, in me, a rather repressed hesitation that there is but one shot in the barrel of opportunity, for whence discharged, has no chance of recompense. In me, idealistic urgings I extinguish with pessimism and a defunct disdain of hope. I am pained and you are ignorant. But yet, I am more than willing to have it the other way too. So I guess it has to be lust.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Dear lord! has it been seven months since I last saw you? How could it have been so long yet feel so short. Alas I can only conclude that your importance is but a fleeting memory in the larger scheme of things.
Yet fret not, I will make it a point to meet up with you frequently, lest you shun me when I need you most. But till then, be the epitome of a woman. Aware of my presence but resolved not to beg for it.
Yet fret not, I will make it a point to meet up with you frequently, lest you shun me when I need you most. But till then, be the epitome of a woman. Aware of my presence but resolved not to beg for it.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Ho hums
"and I only have eyes for you"
Or so thats how the song goes anyway. If only such simple application from lyrical verse to real life was possible.
Unfortunately or fortuitously, this is not the case. Love is but a silly game that we taunt ourselves with. With painful headaches and equally euphoric heart races there is no limits to the emotions conjured in this magical encounter.
However like all magic tricks, it is but a farce, a sleight of the hear. Nothing but sheer illusion that leaves you embittered at the end and yet, quietly wanting for more.
Or so thats how the song goes anyway. If only such simple application from lyrical verse to real life was possible.
Unfortunately or fortuitously, this is not the case. Love is but a silly game that we taunt ourselves with. With painful headaches and equally euphoric heart races there is no limits to the emotions conjured in this magical encounter.
However like all magic tricks, it is but a farce, a sleight of the hear. Nothing but sheer illusion that leaves you embittered at the end and yet, quietly wanting for more.
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