Page 30 - silent_secret

WHAT'S TO BE DONE ?

The wind dies
Killing the Sea into calmness
The mind silent falls,

There's no breeze
It's stuffy
The body stinks of Vizag
The mind's unable to get it off the chest
The mind's turbulent with the sun's rear.

Poetry sends me packing to the hospital
Why don't you come too, my chum?
Witness stupid unrealistic plays

Didn't the deadman's long nail pierce you?
1
Read my buxom poems
"Mrs. Aunt'' : cries the poet
Poor thing a maid dies
Before she's chance to exhibit her' nudity,

Here's man spits and spits
What about the festival expenses?

Kick me chum and you'll somarsault -
Mad wind
Salt bath
Stormy books,