Treasure Island

Nikhil Parekh

(27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

without the immortal love of a woman


Every man's eye is devastatingly empty; unbearably rotting towards the
dungeons of diabolical hell; without the celestially commiserating
reflections of a bountiful woman,
Every man's palm is sinfully empty; barbarously rotting towards the
coffins of penalizing hell; without the compassionately befriending
grip of an honest woman,
Every man's vein is dreadfully empty; devilishly rotting towards the
vacuum of torturous hell; without the invincibly righteous rudiments
of a sacrosanct woman,
Every man's brain is deliriously empty; sadistically rotting towards
the thorns of cold-blooded hell; without the unsurpassably ebullient
fantasies of an eclectic woman,
Every man's lip is ghastily empty; tawdrily rotting towards the
mortuaries of parasitic hell; without the wondrously igniting kisses
of an ardent woman,
Every man's shadow is venomously empty; carnivorously rotting towards
the skeletons of hideous hell; without the mellifluously symbiotic
sweetness of a benign woman,
Every man's signature is disastrously empty; egregiously rotting
towards the nothingness of hedonistic hell; without the astoundingly
ameliorating reflection of a caring woman,
Every man's mission is treacherously empty; horrendously rotting
towards the dirt of excoriating hell; without the pricelessly
unconquerable encouragement of a blessed woman,
Every man's lung is cripplingly empty; nonsensically rotting towards
the meaninglessness of asphyxiating hell; without the unassailably
reinvigorating breath of a timeless woman,
Every man's cheek is lecherously empty; salaciously rotting towards
the perversions of crucifying hell; without the mischievously spell
binding peck of an untamed woman,
Every man's chest is drearily empty; ignominiously rotting towards the
blackness of massacring hell; without the magically reincarnating
caress of a sensuous woman,
Every man's spine is lividly empty; preposterously rotting towards the
holocaust of morbid hell; without the insurmountably majestic virility
of an enigmatic woman,
Every man's adventure is hopelessly empty; sacrilegiously rotting
towards the ghost of tormenting hell; without the inscrutably
tantalizing echo of a mesmerizing woman,
Every man's skin is frigidly empty; inconsolably rotting towards the
whiplash of strangulating hell; without the fathomlessly unabashed
exhilaration of an intrepid woman,
Every man's soul is cursedly empty; inexplicably rotting towards the
gallows of murderous hell; without the infallibly consecrating
sensitivity of a vivacious woman,
Every man's shoulder is dolorously empty; blasphemously rotting
towards the shards of deteriorating hell; without the amazingly
unflinching unity of a blissful woman,
Every man's ear is abjectly empty; viciously rotting towards the
gutters of malevolent hell; without the enchantingly unfettered voice
of a mystical woman,
Every man's nostril is despondently empty; perilously rotting towards
the wickedness of baseless hell; without the perennially life-yielding
fragrance of an intricate woman,
And every man's heart is haplessly empty; unsparingly rotting towards
the evil jinx of cannibalistic hell; without the immortally embracing
love of a faithful woman. 

Submitted: Sunday, August 17, 2014

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Topic(s): love

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