Adya

The promise of words,
of reason,
explanation,
left unfulfilled,
...

I do not know
where is love
it escapes me.
...

When the cobra raises its ugly head
there is no escape.
Sharp,
biting with things like teeth,
...

No tear fell,
nor did I cry,
inside
dryness lay,
...

I am a slave!
Metre is my master.
Driven by Metaphor.
...

The anaconda is so magnificent, so complex,
but it confuses,
constricts,
corrupts.
...

He confided, and left,
an implacable confidence,
drifting,
no anchor!
...

My rock!

My anchor!
...

Passion left shame,
embarrassment,
unforgivably human,
...

What of him?
I do not know.
I do not dare to ask.
...

This is like a rattlesnake,
announcing itself with a characteristic motif.
The is no mistaking a rattlesnake for what it is,
It mesmerises the naive,
...

...

Just a glance
I turned my head
perfect and beautiful
...

Overconsideration rose to cordial ignorance,
lies never,
but the passion of passion which passion endows,
now diverging,
...

Is one sufficient?
Or is multiplicity the goal?
one perfect form?
or many without soul?
...

To be bound to prose,
or poetry;
to have something as important as your message.... your mood
not for me, that isn't for me,
...

What is my sentence Judge?
A life of introspection?
Or a marriage to discomfort?
Decide what you will
...

Rhyme pushes,
manipulates my words,
twists my message!
...

Metre confines,
restricts,
deforms,
...

An unripened pear,
tossed into the decaying,
sweetens,
ripens,
...