The Amplest

Being totally blessed that morn,

            Hooked on my violin to adorn,

Gayous were all on the street when sun had just born;

            Some stared at me with the eyes of lorn.

It was the huge edifice;

            People were as if in disguise,

Spread all over on chaise;

            Dread in everyone’s face and worth none to praise.

Dais was occupied and the performers began in a ho hum;

            Tied were the spectators and I could smell them turn ransom,

They neither wanted noir nor a choir:

I was on stage to fiddle all good music in ma head,

Had to erode them to giggle or else I was dead;

Hands duressed on the fido,

Becalmed, abut and slumbered,

But found strings outnumbered.

Somehow I could grab a lampoon-

            - from my four chambered aortic pump,

Desired for this kind of slump,

            Or atleast to console myself when she was supposed to dump.

Retrieving the thirst of lust,

            I Straded The Serene in gust!

Resulting the storming crowd to bust.

Could hear some silly old men-

            -puffing in the corner of the den

Saying “that was the best jest in zest”

            Hurraying me for passing in this kindof test,

Memoired forever placidly in Me, She and the Rest J

Quavering Poet Suhas

20^th November ‘08.

Aphorist

Dawn noon and dusk, he lays on a doss,

The flowers dooms to husk, he doesn’t have any posse;

His powers are at brusque, cos he ain’t have any boss!

Neither gabbled nor waddled,

            He just twaddle and toddled;

But they erred and stirred to façade,

            And compared his caboodle as in the boodle.

Relinquished with this as a scar,

His mind went ajar;

Showed them all as a guiding star,

Scoring a full par with a gloss.

Dawn noon and dusk, he lays on a doss,

The flowers dooms to husk, he doesn’t have any posse;

His powers are at brusque, cos he ain’t have any boss!

Quavering Poet Suhas

8th September '08.

SCHMALTZ

Life’s baffling when she gets obsessed

  Raffling aback after it gets regressed

Had to just behave like a wimp

  But remained helpless on the crimp.

Life’s like a bandy, sometimes smirking holding a candy,

  And sometimes weeping drinking brandy

Had to just behave like a dandy

  But remained unmoved on sandy.

Life’s like a Lizard in the Drums

  Sitting unshaken on the tight bums

Had to just move groping

  But remained there gremlin.

Life’s stupendous when I glow

  And it seems marvelous when my heart blows

Had to just propose her with a bang

  But remained numb hearing to the slang.

Quavering Poet Suhas
17th May ’08.

Final Distortion

It was all the time who told me

    To sit back and see

How to win the Zeal, without profanity but,

    Only with the given opportunity;

To endure, to embrace,

    To discern and to decept;

Hard to believe if someone is so perfect,

    Profound, professed and as if totally impressed.

None ever knew at the furthest,

    I would be actually a bait, who was made to wait;

Blown, smashed, kicked and tricked,

    My blood just turned to asphalt at this extortion,

Now the time is laughing, seeing at this final distortion.

    Damn!

Quavering Poet Suhas

9^th April ’08.

Dwindled

It was a lovely lonely day,

Sanely walking on hay;

Could feel a fete of dame-

Stood next to the bush in lame.

Relished in her fame and I basked in for a glory,

Anticipating embarkment of my love story;

Soon I fetched some negus in my hand to proffer,

I walked towards her-

She stood stranded,

Couldn't look at her grimace,

As her hairs were twisted

And the bright robe reflected.

On my approach she saw me through impediment,

The roaches added much more embellishment;

With a holy grin she took the goblet-

Fumed it and splashed on my hatchet;

She ran in glee and hid behind the tree,

Peeked at me and could hear her say

" will you be always with me? "

Quavering Poet Suhas.  

29th Feb '08.

Beauty from Strathspey . . .  

That fine dusk in my garden

    Smelled of musk from Arden,

What so calm and what so pleasant,

    She looked like palm n cream moon crescent.

I went near like a dopey

     She jumped like a deer in spokey;

I gave her the berry which was grapey

     She took it and told "you look like pompey".

She then stood and performed the Strathspey;

     All the time with her was joyous n gay.

Quavering Poet Suhas

9^th Jan ’08.

Quavering Poet Suhas.  

7^th Jan ’08.

“Success “, a state of prosperity or fame . . . who can enunciate confidently that he is at Godspeed.

Befuddled! I just want to entail what actually success means to an individual.

The current geneses have a misconception that he is surrounded with a caboodle of folks, who are classified into their own comfort.

But we can observe the chroma of friendship lies when an individual maintains a perfect bondage with all of them without any stinginess. An individual is not considered to be successful only when he is alive but even after his demise. He, who has friends irrespective of age & creed, enjoys to a complete degree of his fellowship. A perfect folk, a perfect child, a perfect social being and also a perfect enemy to his foes. On his demise his foe should laugh out loud “hurrah! there lies my foe, unspoken, unmoved” but instantly he should howl, crying “but he was the perfect one to combat, I miss you my foe. . .”