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Bald

I didn’t need shampoo to clean my scalp; instead a glass of tainted
water
could excellently do the job,
On the other hand you required tones of bubbly froth to cleanse your
hair;
evacuate the petulant granules of dandruff neatly entrapped between
your
follicles.

I didn’t need gleaming hair oil to smear on my head; all I had to do
was clap
it loudly with my bohemian palms,
On the other hand you required swanky ointments; antiseptic creams to
keep the
conglomerate of your hair well in place.

I didn’t need scintillating scissors to use on my scalp; it would
appear
wholesomely ludicrous even if I held one in close proximity with it,
On the other hand you required a plethora of sharp instruments; pairs

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Embrace unconquerable life

Suicide; is a ghastily lingering spirit between
resplendently sparkling heaven and diabolically
ghastly hell,

Suicide; is the most desperately hedonistic crime
committed against every conceivable fraternity of all
mankind,

Suicide; is the most truculently unforgivable outburst
of any organism; murderously imperiling the crux of
symbiotically mesmerizing existence,

Suicide; is a ghoulishly amorphous abode; without the
most infinitesimal trace of doors; windows and
robustly functioning entities,

Suicide; is an indescribably treacherous venom; which
brutally asphyxiates the impoverished ghost; even
after the wholesome end of priceless life,

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Humanitarian Sect

Be it overwhelmingly tall; or be it the shortest man
on this astronomically majestic Universe,

Be it preposterously obese; or be it a marvelously
perfect angel with gloriously sparkling body contours,

Be it robustly pink; or be it the most horrendously
ungainly looking man wandering on the trajectory of
this mesmerizing planet,

Be it an impeccable messiah; or be it the most
salaciously manipulative entity; entangled in a web of
commercially bizarre malice,

O! Yes; Be it any religion or even the most oblivious
of dialect; the color of blood running in everybody’s
veins was a poignant scarlet; so c’mon mates lets
relinquish baseless discrimination forever; and
immortally bond ourselves; in the everlastingly
priceless HUMANITARIAN SECT….

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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After Marriage

Before marriage she used to keep me handsomely like a
king on her lids; dancing them every now and again to
rejuvenate my overwhelmingly harried senses,
While after marriage she hardly opened her eyes; kept
sleeping like an untamed monster all day; despite the
most passionate of my appeals.

Before marriage she harbored me like the most prized
ring on her finger; scrubbing it umpteenth number of
times with the ointment of her sensuous love,
While after marriage she locked her ornament in her
dilapidated rusty safe; leaving me in the realms of
obsolete oblivion to contend with the dust and demons.

Before marriage she possessed me like a cherished rose
in vase of her heart; harnessing me with the crimson
blood that flowed profusely through her veins,
While after marriage she ruthlessly ripped me apart;
left me to decay with the stinking pile of garbage and
the sweeper blowing me in nonchalant disdain; with the

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Dont mess with love

Don’t mess with lies; it would hedonistically
massacre you with its fangs of vindictively flagrant
prejudice,

Don’t mess with the scorpion; it would so
ballistically permeate its venomously curled tail into
your nimble flesh; that you’d never be able to raise
your hindside,

Don’t mess with the Sun; it would burn you to
infinitesimal moles of inane ash; which wouldn’t be
accepted even by the land of disastrously disappearing
oblivion,

Don’t mess with the Shark; it would pulverize every
element of your countenance to such a pulverized
chowder; that wouldn’t be visible with even the most
contemporarily high powered telescope,

Don’t mess with the avalanche; it would treacherously

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Children are like God

Children are like fresh globules of tantalizing rain;
which spell bindingly descend in euphoric frenzy from
fathomless carpets of glorious sky,

Children are like innocuous tufts of cotton soaring
ebulliently in handsome atmosphere; philandering in
stupendous melody under carpets of gloriously blissful
sunshine,

Children are like the pristine rays of Omnipotent Sun;
profoundly illuminating one and all; with their
vibrantly intriguing imagery; alike,

Children are like the fairies of irrefutable truth
dancing in the celestial heavens; with their
immaculately divine consciences boundless kilometers
away; from the despicable gutter of lies,

Children are like ecstatically redolent roses brazenly
swaying in the afternoon winds; unfurling into

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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If you really felt sorry

Don’t just repeat POVERTY tirelessly and then feel
remorseful; pathetically nodding your head; as if the
most unassailable messiah of bereaved humanity,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then vanquish it forever from its very
non-existent roots; and from even the most
infinitesimal corner of the pompously rigid society…..

Don’t just spell POVERTY incessantly and then feel
regretful; lugubriously crossing your fingers; as if
all mercy had wholesomely disappeared from the
trajectory of this colossal planet,
If you really felt sorry from the bottom of your
heart; then unflinchingly surge forward to scrap even
the most inconspicuous of its essence from this
fathomless Universe; philanthropically mitigate all
organism alive from its devastating stranglehold….

Don’t just visualize POVERTY indefatigably and then
feel destroyed; uncontrollably wailing like a

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Drinking my own anger

I couldn’t hit the earth in my bouts of anger; as it
was the one which grew the food necessary for my
survival,

I couldn’t hit the wall in my bouts of anger; as it
was the one which sequestered my scalp against
tumultuous storm and rain; it was the one which constituted and
fortified my dwelling,

I couldn't hit the tree in my bouts of anger; as it
was laden with the fruits I nibbled in my times of
relish; imparted me with velvety breeze in the
sweltering night,

I couldn’t hit the mirror in my bouts of anger; as it
magnificently portrayed to me my pellucid and candid
reflection; and doing so I knew would exacerbate the
situation further; would make my own hand bleed,

I couldn’t hit mothers stomach in my bouts of anger;

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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A Woman's World…

If a man was born out of a woman's divinely womb; after tossing;
turning and kicking helplessly for 9 agonizingly marathon months;
before tasting the first beams of light of the alien world,

If a man suckled life-yielding milk; comfort; and compassion; from the
bosom of a woman; in order to perseveringly fortify each of his
bone-to face the ghastly wrath of the parasitic planet outside,

If a man wailed in a woman's eclectically sensitive palms in his times
of duress; felt their latent warmth as the most invincible fortress;
even as the worst of hell descended on earth,

If a man fervently licked his fingers clean time and again; savoring
the most succulently ravishing meals on earth even in his dreams;
prepared by the artistically virile woman,

If a man flirted and philandered with a woman in iridescent twilight;
in order to grant his veins the most tantalizingly unparalleled
exhilaration that ever existed; in order to profoundly realize the
glory of his untamed youth,

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Heavenly Poetry

It was my incessant inspiration; to diffuse into an
unfathomable valley of goodness; perpetually coalesce
with my bountiful rudiments; irrespective of the
contemporarily bombastic slang and slime,

It was my tireless inspiration; to float in the aisles
of untamed sensuousness; assimilate all fathomless
beauty of this resplendent Universe; in every
ingredient of my agonizingly famished blood,

It was my unrelenting inspiration; to embrace the
winds of timeless fantasy; let the spirit of
euphorically rhapsodic existence; take wholesome
control upon my countenance from all sides,

It was my limitless inspiration; to blazingly surge
forward in the chapter of vibrantly enthralling life;
gloriously emerge as a triumphant winner in every
direction that I even remotely conceived to tread,

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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