Nikhil Parekh Poems

You unnervingly proclaim yourself to be a timelessly unflinching devotee of the Omnipotently endowing Lord Almighty; one of the most profoundly dedicated of his countless disciples,
Then where did all your sincere devotion go; when you lambasted a volley of
unsavory abuse upon the flagrantly crippled dog; who came infront of your uncontrollably speeding car from suddenly out of the blue; and out of wisps of sheer nothingness?
...

A man of no formality; unstoppably abhorring all those who spun webs of sanctimoniously derogatory prejudice; on every step that they traversed,

A man of who insuperably believed that every religion was alike; blending each ingredient of my blood forever and ever and ever with the religion of priceless humanity,
...

Neither was there anything above it; not even the most infinitesimally decrepit iota of independently integral standing; could dare dream come near it,

Neither was there anything below it; not even the most ethereally nonchalant iota of exuberantly triumphant space; could dare dream come near it,
...

When I wasn't blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love Poetry,

When I wasn't unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly writing a garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love Poetry,
...

Steal it in such unsurpassably untamed amounts; an infinite times more than
what the last bone of your diminutively shivering spine; could ever
parsimoniously conceive or desire,
...

Have your ears wholesomely relinquished every of their ability; to listen to even the most thunderously roaring and passionately ignited of sounds?

Have your lips wholesomely relinquished every of their ability; to stretch into even the most infinitesimal of redolently enamoring and blissfully synergistic smiles?
...

A true poet is the one; who indefatigably fantasizes in the aisles of uninhibited freedom; without caring even an inconspicuous trifle about the conventionally
tyrannical society,

A true poet is the one; who romanticizes art even in the most languidly dreariest of stones; relentlessly floating in the planet of harmonious melody,
...

If its from the center of the voluptuously enriching clouds; then it has got to be nothing else but; tantalizing droplets of blissfully soothing and blessedly emollient rain,

If its from the petals of the splendidly embellished rose; then it has got to be nothing else but; fantastically unhindered and impregnably enamoring fragrance,
...

Neither could I feel the tiniest iota of thirst; Neither could I feel even an inconspicuously ethereal sensation in my lifelessly fetid skin,

Neither could I experience the slightest ounce of pain; Neither could I perceive the most remotest definition of spell-binding fantasy in my dolorously deadened brain,
...

Dance. And you'll uninhibitedly release even the most infinitesimal iota of mercilessly trapped frustration; disdainfully entrapped in your bones.

Dance. And you'll metamorphose every droplet of your brutally estranged sweat; into a paradise of intriguingly unparalleled and triumphant newness.
...