The Mottled Nest

Pour,

Pour in,

into the cone-shaped-shell of periwinkle

the bloody souvenir with a labyrinth of wrinkle

that blinds the eyes, just in a twinkle

Periwinkle, remain afloat in the deep sea

till bloody-souvenir eye must not see

is totally cleansed by the tide of the sea

Memory, be buried in the heaps of history

so sleep will celebrate its difficult victory

over the stubborn lid of the eye

hunted by the lugubrious dim-pictures

of the rotten years of the vultures

the monthly merciless smashing of foetus

in their warming nest with burning impetus

synonymous with exuberance of the youth

Oh! the innocent-silent cries of babies

whose warming – nest overnight becomes abattoir & cemetery

Yesterday, hurry, flew with scary-stock inventory

with scar issues; the tale-tall of the

colossal sacks of bones crushed in the abattoir

and little tombs dunged by the armature

grave-diggers, by the cathedral of the

walls of the delicate and intricate nest

Today, is come with prayer beads

for religious rituals, to free the nest

battling in the oceanic-pool of guilt

Today, pray earnestly from dusk to dawn

that sins of reckless youth and filth

should not be visited on you, to rob

your serene heart its peaceful rhythmic throb

Yesterday, dive into the deep sea

come not back ever to see

your kith and kin – today and tomorrow

goodbye – Yesterday, with all the rut of the youth

goodbye, for Today is here for rejuvenation

and Tomorrow for posterity, goodbye, goodbye,