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Best Poems From
NIKHIL PAREKH
(27/08/1977)
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165.
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As the Almighty Lord had let you come
Get of the shadows of others; in order to find your very own optimistic
Sun
of unflinchingly peerless and brilliantly unfettered; light,
Get of the palms of others; in order to find your very own unparalleled
entrenchment of beautifully inscrutable and timelessly emollient;
destiny
lines,
Get of the lips of others; in order to find your very own heaven of
inimitably resplendent and unbelievably exuberant; smiles,
Get of the eyes of others; in order to find your very own celestial
mirror
of candidly discerning and triumphantly enlightening; sight,
Get of the footsteps of others; in order to find your very own pathway
of
unflinchingly unconquerable and timelessly endowing; truth,
Get of the blood of others; in order to find your very own sky of
benevolently supreme and wonderfully indomitable; integrity,
Get of the shoulders of others; in order to find your very own fortress
of
pricelessly inimitable and unsurpassably Herculean; strength,
Get of the soul of others; in order to find your very own river of
boundlessly charismatic and endlessly proliferating; artistry,
Get of the fingers of others; in order to find your very own cradle of
unshakably miraculous and unceasingly coalescing; friendship,
Get of the tongue of others; in order to find your very own
civilization of
blazingly unstoppable and altruistically philanthropic; speech,
Get of the brain of others; in order to find your very own meadows of
pricelessly ebullient and fathomlessly innovative; fantasy,
Get of the veins of others; in order to find your very own festoon of
marvelously virile and unendingly procreating; fertility,
Get of the sleep of others; in order to find your very own garden of
panoramically liberated and magically mollifying; sleep,
Get of the eyelashes of others; in order to find your very own hillock
of
stupendously immaculate and unfathomably unhindered; mischief,
Get of the stomach of others; in order to find your very own scepter of
blisteringly majestic and philanthropically unmatched; identity,
Get of the nails of others; in order to find your very own punch of
fearlessly gutsy and intrepidly exhilarating; temerity,
Get of the feet of others; in order to find your very own cosmos of
righteously obeisant and ever-pervadingly Omnipotent; salvation,
Get of the ears of others; in order to find your very own atmosphere of
astutely articulate and symbiotically perspicacious; perception,
Get of the salvia of others; in order to find your very own bud of
scrumptiously illuminating and tantalizingly victorious; taste,
Get of the breath of others; in order to find your very own fragrance
of
indefatigably evolving and uncannily royal; existence,
Get of the conscience of others; in order to find your very own voice
of
gloriously everlasting and insuperably Omnipresent; truth,
But forever stay in the hearts of others; immortally bonding with every
beat
of your compatriots; immortally radiating the essence of unassailably
compassionate togetherness; immortally throbbing for even the most
infinitesimal speck of benign goodness; immortally existing as a
Universe of
oneness; as the Lord Almighty had let you come…
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
Nikhil Parekh
Read more: identity poems, truth poems, destiny poems, sleep poems, mirror poems, strength poems, river poems, heaven poems, sky poems, sun poems, light poems, smile poems
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166.
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Back in Business
As soon as the rain came tumbling tempestuously from
crimson sky; the acrimoniously scorching desert sands
were blissfully back in business,
As soon as tendrils of scrumptiously green grass came
upon the treacherously barren slopes; the miserably
divested cow was radiantly back in business,
As soon as the spellbindingly boisterous bee came to
uninhibitedly philander in the disparagingly lambasted
garden; the derogatorily squandered rose was
ingratiatingly back in business,
As soon as invincible blankets of iron came to
majestically blend with inconspicuously frigid mud;
the pathetically emaciated iron was astoundingly back
in business,
As soon as skies of unparalleled challenge came to
As soon as rhapsodic undulations of sea water came to
monotonously nondescript land; the flagrantly
slavering fish were celestially back in business,
As soon as untamed whirlpools of ebulliently ravishing
breeze came to the lugubriously still atmosphere; the
egregiously devastated birds were bountifully back in
business,
As soon as exuberantly iridescent rainbows came to the
fathomlessly lackadaisical skies; the disastrously
dwindling peacocks were euphorically back in business,
As soon as mystically luminescent nightfall came to
the torturously bereaved forests; the disdainfully
silent snakes were triumphantly back in business,
As soon as fireballs of unlimited compassion came to
the fabric of manipulatively estranged planet; the
derogatorily deteriorating artist was royally back in
business,
As soon as the mists of relentlessly cavorting
mischief came to the sonorously morbid atmosphere; the
forlornly trembling butterfly was connubially back in
business,
As soon as streams of mellifluously vibrant beauty
came to every cranny of this murderously bellicose
planet; the fantastically fantasizing and holistic
brain was gloriously back in business,
As soon as the resplendently twinkling circus came to
the ghoulishly beleaguered mortuary; the truculently
whipped clowns were enthusiastically back in business,
As soon as winds of luxuriously opulence came to every
dilapidated street of this impoverished planet; the
hoarsely extradited beggars were victoriously back in
business,
As soon as mirrors of unassailably egalitarian
selflessness came to this venomously lecherous earth;
the traumatically extinguishing flames of truth and
pristinely untainted unity; were jubilantly back in
business,
As soon as shadows of intriguingly princely silkenness
came to the jaggedly corrugated periphery of earth;
the dementedly delirious fairies were wholeheartedly
back in business,
As soon as the corridors of unshakable hope came to
the corpses of horrendously maiming stagnation; the
despondently fading beams of enlightenment were
unflinchingly back in business,
As soon as fearlessly exotic air came to the
gruesomely stuttering jacket of penurious lungs; the
diabolically shivering bloodstreams were timelessly
back in business,
As soon as undefeated infernos of impeccable integrity
came to the politically corrupt civilization; the
rapidly sagging Sun of patriotism was unconquerably
back in business,
And as soon as fathomless gorge’s of immortal love
came to the preposterously sinful coffins of ghostly
betrayal; the haplessly silent and unfortunate heart
was perpetually back in business…
©COPYRIGHT—2005, BY NIKHIL PAREKH. All rights reserved.
Nikhil Parekh
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167.
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Bald
I didn’t need shampoo to clean my scalp; instead a glass of tainted
water
could excellently do the job,
On the other hand you required tones of bubbly froth to cleanse your
hair;
evacuate the petulant granules of dandruff neatly entrapped between
your
follicles.
I didn’t need gleaming hair oil to smear on my head; all I had to do
was clap
it loudly with my bohemian palms,
On the other hand you required swanky ointments; antiseptic creams to
keep the
conglomerate of your hair well in place.
I didn’t need scintillating scissors to use on my scalp; it would
appear
wholesomely ludicrous even if I held one in close proximity with it,
On the other hand you required a plethora of sharp instruments; pairs
of
intricate razors; in order to occasionally trim the unruly tentacles of
your
hair.
I didn’t need a brush to part my scalp; as it nimbly obliged to my
scrubbing
it with a dust cloth,
On the other hand you required a luxuriously serrated comb; to
meticulously
entangle the incorrigible knots formed in your long hair.
I didn’t need to camouflage my scalp with a taut piece of cloth every
time I
ventured out; as there was no danger of the wind blowing it away,
On the other hand you required to embellish yourself with a
grandiloquent cap;
a host of flapping sunshades; in order to ensure that the thin wisps of
your
hair didn’t rip apart with the tenacious breeze,
I didn’t need to incessantly browse my hands through my scalp; while
attending
pompous parties,
On the other hand you required to sporadically run your fingers against
your
cuticles; making sure that they remained stringently aligned.
I didn’t need to wash my scalp after bathing in the saline ocean;
instead let
it to dry over a natural course of time,
On the other hand it was inevitable for you to stand beneath a steaming
shower; to annihilate all the poignant salt trapped in your greasy
hair.
I didn’t need to consume a battalion of salubrious vitamins to make my
scalp
glisten; simply standing under the blazing sun itself; granted it an
enchanting shine,
On the other hand you desperately required to procure every tonic
available in
the market; to impregnate an artificial luster in your lifeless hair.
I didn’t need to submerge my scalp into ravishing cologne to get
noticed;
people profoundly admired the openness of my head wherever I went,
On the other hand you used to apply the most enticing of gel on your
lackadaisical hair; and yet remained unnoticed.
I didn’t need to coat my scalp with black chemicals; intermittently
apply a
blend of paint and water to keep it in shape,
On the other hand you were exorbitantly conscious about the greyness in
your
hair; painting it with brilliant dye; remained busy all day trying to
pluck
the insipid strands of white.
Therefore it is my earnest prayer to you O! omnipresent creator; to
create me
without hair for the next 100 births; if I fortunately took birth on
this soil
as man,
For I considered myself infinite times luckier to remain 'BALD'; than
suffer
from the unrelenting tyranny of possessing clusters of bushy hair.
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
Nikhil Parekh
Read more: hair poems, water poems, birth poems, ocean poems, people poems, wind poems, sun poems, running poems
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168.
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Bearded
I didn’t need a pair of scissors; glistening wildly in
yellow sunlight,
I didn’t need a knife; protruding gallantly from the
slender handle,
I didn’t need a hostile blade; with edges as sharp as
a savage vulture,
I didn’t need after shave cologne; emanating a scent
more stupendous than the rose,
I didn’t need a pungent slab of aluminum; having its
surface as smooth as white ice,
I didn’t need a soft sponge; with its body profusely
dipped in tingling antiseptic,
I didn’t need tablets of colored soap; evolving a bath
of bubbles after vigorous scrubbing,
I didn’t need high pressured foam; diffusing into a
stream of spicy froth the instant I compressed it,
I didn’t need long spools of cotton; triangular heaps
of bandages to drape across my wounds,
I didn’t need shimmering tweezers of pure steel; to
scrupulously pluck my hair,
I didn’t need sleazy colored dye; with its shade
resembling rotten vegetables decaying in the dark,
I didn’t need a blow dryer; ejecting out tones of hot
air at whirlwind speeds,
I didn’t need a barrel of vanity powder; to spuriously
illuminate the contours of my face,
I didn’t need a bowl of moisturizing cream; to
incessantly massage each pore of my skin,
I didn’t need sizzling face pads; to caress the breath
flowing harmoniously out of my nose,
I didn’t need a mirror; to admire my reflection for
marathon hours in the scintillating glass incorporated
within,
I didn’t even need to waste a single second more in
the morning; reaching the office well before the boss
came in,
And the strange thing was; that even if someone
donated all the above contraptions to me completely
free; I still would blatantly reject them,
By now you must be at the edge of your seats to know
the secret of my existence; well the answer to this is
more simpler than your voice; as I didn’t have even
the slightest of free space on my cheeks; or to put it
more succinctly I was BEARDED…
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
Nikhil Parekh
Read more: mirror poems, rose poems, hair poems, dark poems
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