Nikhil Parekh

Gold Star - 6,492 Points (27/08/1977 / Dehradun, India)

Busy - Poem by Nikhil Parekh

The clouds were mystically busy; in showering tantalizing globules of rain; upon fathomless territories of agonizingly parched soil,

The Sun was flamingly busy; in magically sizzling every cranny of this boundlessly congenial Universe; with golden beams of its optimistically enchanting light,

The spiders were fabulously busy; in enamoringly weaving silken strands of webs; euphorically bouncing in the threads; fervently anticipating the prey of their choice,

The fires were swelteringly busy; in charring even the most infinitesimal iota of tenacious logwood; to threadbare bits of minuscule ash,

The clowns were ludicrously busy; in tumultuously evoking a festoon of unfathomable smiles; on the faces of all those besieged with cloudbursts of inexplicable gloom,

The eagles were majestically busy; in enshrouding every bit of drearily insipid space; with exuberant draughts of exotic air,

The snakes were ominously busy; in stealthily waiting for innocuously sparkling skin; ebullient chunks of flesh to venomously infiltrate their murderously sinister fangs; in,

The fortresses were invincibly busy; in compassionately sequestering all those disastrously orphaned and dithering; from the acrimoniously mighty onslaught; of
the turgidly satanic society,

The clothes were amiably busy; in shielding innocently naked skin from vindictively frozen avalanches of wind; as well as tyrannically ferocious rays of; the uncouthly blistering afternoon,

The cars were boisterously busy; in rhapsodically transporting fatigued battalions of passengers; to the most resplendently placating destination of their supreme choice,

The sharks were diabolically busy; in frantically groping for immaculate prey; metamorphose a profusely robust framework of ravishing flesh and blood; into a
devastatingly transposed curry of sheer nothingness,

The dogs were pertinently busy; in dolefully barking; deluging the trajectory of the gloomily treacherous night; with an incomprehensible number of their ghoulish wails,

The ghosts were insidiously busy; in casting the spell of their gorily sinister doom; devouring blissful civilizations; in the swirl of their hideously obfuscated and grotesque countenances,

The eyes were indefatigably busy; in profoundly discerning and imbibing the fathomlessly glorious beauty of this gregariously mystical Universe; paving
their way ecstatically forward to coin astoundingly new chapters of existence,

The blood was poignantly busy; in spell bindingly imparting fortitude to each arena of the staggeringly bedraggled body; rejuvenating it to unfurl refreshingly emphatic chapters of; a vividly vibrant tomorrow,

The pigs were disdainfully busy; in excoriating through lugubrious piles of garbage at lightening velocities; ruthlessly gobbling even the most worthlessly stinking piece of shit; that sleazily greeted them in their savage way,

The forests were inscrutably busy; in churning tales of unrelenting mysticism; voluptuously kissing the charismatic blanket of the stupendously glittering night; with seductive fireballs of empathy; and life,

The Gods were Omnisciently busy; in proliferating astronomical spurts of sacred life on the boundlessly beautiful planet; articulately maneuvering the destiny of each organism; rich or lecherously poor; alike,

And my Heart was perpetually busy; in incarcerating the beats of her passionately divine heart; assimilating and immortal bonding with the essence of her unparalleled love; uniting with her philanthropic will; to bless all benign mankind.

Topic(s) of this poem: love

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Poem Edited: Saturday, February 27, 2016

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