That which pulsates venom

A Snake of Rickshaws

onto the street, a meandering snake is there,

crawling, creeping in wayward wavelengths,

coiled with the lives of many being the skin of

this vagrant; venomous just for me because

I am a vulture of voluptuous veal, vying for

a guttural chord to escape my throat, to convey

the monotone of fear, that which resides, creeps

much like the snake of rickshaws does in my sight,


it is there right along my nerves, pulsating venom

through me, to its prey: the vinyl vessel of life


Photograph clicked 18 March’14.



they would wriggle their tongues,

teasing each other, from

opposite sides of the fence,

of sharp protrudes, which

could not cut the thread,

by which they were joined,

their comradeship intact, with

an amalgam of childish love,

and the simple plain desire,

of being with the other


through the window, of the

structures, that stood apart,

divided by a brick wall,

the tentacle eyed would

look, at the blooming friendship,

ready to plunge, their venom

into the hearts, of the innocents,

bidding for the time, when they

could feed, the mouths of them,

with the bitter seed, of animosity,


many years passed, everything passed,

the walls of, those cursed shelters,

had bounded down, all that remained

was that fence, the knives of which

had gone blunt, and on the either side,

stood those, who knew each other once,

aware of the vacant space, in their chests,

(the yarn had gone loose, but there

was still a hope left, everything

had not gone, into trash yet)


on the gravel ground, they were stagnant,

reviving what was snatched from them,

how they were cheated, and left with

the ache, of losing what was theirs,

their eyes pierced, their souls apart,

and they veered away, not able to

grasp the pain, of their small lives,

losing balance, of the truth, they gained,

they walked away, finding their own ways,

what it was, it was lost, and that was all


Submitting the link to:

1. Sunday Whirl

2. Poetry Pantry

Image source


The evolution of a being

from the childhood’s reverie

to a grown up’s veracity

from the glimmer of the stars

to the blaze of the sun

from a small injury

to a large gaping wound

from an innocent vision

to a gruesome deed

from the world of truth

to the universe of tall tales

from a fresh water lake

to the ever salty ocean

from the protection of the nest

to the vast lonely sky

from a seed that is sown

to a pest infected plant

from the drop of nectar

to an urn of venom,

the evolution of an infant

to a grown up soul

tarnished by world

shaded by emotions

from the afternoon nap

to the insomniac nights

from the playful toys

to the killer weapons,

there is an evolution

a real evolution

of a spirit as he turns

from a joyful mirth

to an evil sneer in the end.

* Written in response of Theme Thursday Writing Prompt.