Terse in verse

Jacques Andre Boiffard, Big Toe series, Untitled, 1929

Pride of the cartel,
Was a lost cause,
He swerved to his right,
Fell for the gloss.

Blank noise from the sun,
Blackened her hopes.
She stuck to the pole,
Like silhouettes of gods.

The bride loved her mother,
But She fell onto their arms,
The wolf and his other,
Half brother, the lover.

The prisoner smelt freedom,
Died an instant death,
Poisoned air, they say,
Is free and easy, these days.

Feral

Your brilliance will never cease
This unease in the equilibrium,
Your potent countenance, fiery,
Oblivious of the veils of myth,
Yearning to cover your face.

The spirit disowned you,
The day universe exploded
Like a sun starved by its own force,
You fell from grace,
Into a loop called time.

You, now on the threshold of light,
Traverse through this twilight,
Like an urgent nomad,
An impulsive streak,
A forgotten truth, a persistent lie.

autobiographia

Listless, but he survived the odds,
Eager and wanting to believe,
The line that blurs the fate,
Of a child lost in a storm.

Aspire, she said, and she
Walked out of the room,
To become an elusive mean,
for an amnesiac inside a maze.

Lament, but he fought them,
With a half hearted smile,
In defence of the weak,
Between the lines of print.

Shy, he wrote in bold,
Of his own death,
He punished himself,
With a tear and a poem.

Untitled

Rustic bliss I seek you,
Soil smeared on my palms,
Shrouded by the rough-uncut,
Face of the earth.

Trees, undergrowth, the misfit in me,
We are all one today.
One of the same,
For you it’s a naming game.