Guinea Pig

Handpicked out of numerous specimens, experimented, being synchronised in every octave, molten self being poured into umpteen moulds, each as juvenile as melancholy, surreptitiously scripting the most jocular twists, my life, my relevance, is of a guinea pig, and they my Gods are satanic!!

Thursday, October 12, 2006


Arms wide open,
Eyes close shut,
He sits in the sunlight,
Striving, for that touch...

He gets up early,
And lies naked,
Controlling his breath,
Waiting, for that touch...

He stares at the sun,
Perspiring profusely,
Feters paining his body,
Asking for that touch...

To the best of his pace,
He runs and strides,
Suffering, for that touch...

He rolls in the turf,
Sodden in the rain,
Unmoved, limbs tied,
Looking, for that touch...

Walks against the wind,
Towards the world,
The stars are calling,
Searching, for that touch...

Unsuccessful, lost,
Defeated, failed,
Dejected, downed,
He continues,
Living his life,
The way,
He used to,
And then,
He felt,


At 11:49 PM, Blogger Aupsy-The cOOlest One!! said...

A very simple and straightforward poem....nd i must say i feel...

At 8:46 AM, Blogger @archie@ said...

oohh....m honored;)

At 8:47 AM, Blogger @archie@ said...

wrote d last three ones in three consecutive lectures of a particular prof..seems even i was TOUCHED;)

At 10:40 AM, Blogger shreya said...

ok.... so ive realised.... i like your peoms...cuz theyr simple.... i havent checked your other blogs...but this one's nice....


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