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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Without my beloved

Every wall of this house stabbed me like a million
scorpions; venomously crippling each fountain of my
exquisitely bountiful thought,

Every stair of this house made me stagger like a
boundless matchsticks; uncouthly pulverizing me at
every step; for ostensibly no fault of mine,

Every nail of this house pierced me brutally like the
corridors of hell; unrelentingly permeating deeper and
deeper into my satiny flesh; playing a sadistically
gory game with my disastrously wailing nerves,

Every space of this house devilishly stared at me for
times immemorial; savagely lambasting every cranny of
my drearily wasting persona; with remorsefully satanic
morbidity,

Every picture of this house thrashed me unsparingly
like a salaciously ghoulish ghost; vindictively

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Just listening to my beats

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably gauge the profound sadness
enshrouding my countenance; by just ethereally
glimpsing at my shielding eyelashes,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably prognosticate the hunger in my
stomach; by just sighting me restlessly gnawing at my
bohemian nails,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably sense the maniacal desperation in my
trembling visage; by just the infinitesimally changed
tone; in the nimble cadence of my voice,

She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably comprehend the wave of bizarre
mortification enveloping my soul; by just the
capricious tinge of poignant scarlet; on my
impoverished cheeks,

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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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The rain and my newborn baby daughter

The rain was uninhibitedly untamed; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
kicking left; right and center; in her diminutively blessed cradle,

The rain was Omnipotently pristine; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
mischievously tossing in unadulterated joy on the tufts of majestic
green
grass galore,

The rain was magically mitigating; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
miraculously ameliorating me of my most horrific despair; with her
innocuously fluttering eyelashes,

The rain was eternally liberating; and so was my new born baby
daughter;
naughtily smiling amidst her spectrum of teddy bears; as if there was
not
even the most infinitesimal trace of tension on this fathomless

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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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Will you still accept me as your husband? ? ?

Does only going to the corporate office from an exact 9 in the morning to 9 in the bewitching night; prove that a man is indeed an infallibly true husband to his jubilantly vivacious wife?

Does only possessing a perfectly sculptured masculine and virile body; prove that a man is indeed an unconquerably blessed husband to his euphorically tantalizing wife?

Does only earning infinite bundles of quintessential currency note every month; prove that a man is indeed an inimitably worthy husband to his pristinely effulgent wife?

Does only attending the world’s premium cocktail parties and conferences; prove that a man is indeed a pricelessly undefeatable husband to his wondrously enthralling wife?

Does only draping each conceivable pore of the skin with the most opulent fabric; pearls; and ties available in the world; prove that a man is indeed a stupendously enamoring husband to his beautifully effervescent wife?

Does only attracting gargantuan hordes of crowds towards with the mere essence of a celebrity personality; prove that a man is indeed a deservedly smart husband to his insuperably redolent wife?

Does only unceasingly perpetuating the atmosphere with the scent of majestic cigar smoke and kingly wine; prove that a man is indeed a effulgently princely husband to his poignantly intricate wife?

Does only having an inimitably infallible signature proudly embossed on every existing check; prove that a man is indeed a regally eclectic husband to his triumphantly gyrating wife?
Does only conversing at an unbelievably adroit nineteen to the dozen in the most enviably impregnable British accent; prove that a man is indeed an amazingly fulfilling husband to his unimpeachably contemporary wife?

Does only exuding into a billion globules of perseveringly golden sweat every day; prove that a man is indeed an earnestly hard working husband to his piquantly boisterous wife?

Does only possessing supernaturally miraculous qualities of being able to fly bare-chested in freezing air; prove that a man is indeed a truly devoted husband to his eternally replenishing wife?

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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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