Nikhil Parekh Poems

There were various sounds in this world which you didn't like; one of them was the sound of the discordantly wailing eunuch,

There were various truths in this world which you didn't like; one of them was the inevitable arrival of death,
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One shouldn't sleep more than necessary; as extra sleep induces paramount laziness; ruins the ability of a person to work diligently,

One shouldn't eat more than necessary; as extra food lying dumped in the stomach; reduces your ability to have fun; fantasize and sizzle in the corridors of
romance,
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I admit that I didn't have the ability to save all those dying in the war just sitting on my couch in the dining room; but the best I could do was to sincerely pray to God in my mind; to save the innocent from brutal atrocity and death,

I admit that I didn't have the ability to predict what was going on behind the solid brick wall; but the best I could do was to try and evacuate; the person trapped therein; scared and petrified to the last bone down his spine; in an ambience enveloped with stinging scorpion and black cockroach,
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Some had beautifully mesmerizing lips; with a voluptuously silken sheen enveloping their periphery,

Some had astoundingly sharp eyes; able to sight marathon distances; even in the most obfuscated and bleariest of light,
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I wanted to live till that day; when all darkness submerging the earth metamorphosed into brilliant light,

I wanted to live till that day; when all misery engulfing the people converted into immortal happiness,
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The flower on its own looked nonchalant; an inconspicuous entity amidst infinite stalks of lanky grass and wild roots,
Although when I put it in a jar embellished with intriguing designs; plucking it gently from its roots; people admired it profoundly; fervently longed to smell its lingering redolence.

The red pails of wine bubbling in colossal drums of wood; appeared disparaging; inundating the placid air around with a ghastly odor, Although when I poured the same into delectably chiseled glasses; the liquor sparkled magnificently under scintillating rays of the sun; and there was an insatiable urge in my body to consume the same at lightening speeds.
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Wasn't it better to give those left over chunks of dough to the stray dogs on the street; rather than pugnaciously stuffing them into the heart of the dolorously fetid dustbin?

Wasn't it better to use those extravagantly superfluous ingredients of your wealth to enlighten the lives of all those inexplicably impoverished; rather than spuriously abandoning them to increase the weight of gold in your bathroom chair?
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I drenched myself with golden honey liquid, sped to jungles to feed famished insects

I had crisp currency notes stashed in cloth cellars of trouser, distributed knives with razor blades, to my fellow beings in heart breaking agony.
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Without those two pinches of vermilion; she was ruthlessly ridiculed at every quarter of this conventionally acrid society,

Without those two pinches of vermilion; she was treated worse than what people could have treated barbaric dogs on stray streets; shrugging her entirely
from the fabric of blissful existence,
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P stands for PATRIOTISM; an insatiably untamed gusto in the demeanor; to uninhibitedly relinquish life; for the sake of the sacrosanct motherland,
P stands for PITY; wholesomely blending with the sentiment of the tyrannically terrorized; flooding their abode with beams of astronomical courage,
Not for hideously dictatorial POWER; indiscriminate trampling of the innocuously timid; with swords of manipulative greed and beguiling prejudice.
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