Memento Mori
I forage subtly and voraciously
Decrying the astray empathy
With my whittled fingernails
Recounting the forlorn tales
In the ornate map inscribed in a mirror
Perplexed with a flamboyant squalor
Like how the needle skate gracefully
Into the vinyl of ubiquitous maladies
Of my lackadaisical days
Of hoping with feral rays
Congested with a tightrope chance
Gnarled in a rat-king trance.
Dyed synthetic pompadour hair
What hue conceals in its lair?
What combs the wisps of melancholic flair?
Sylvan ears with the left lobe pierced
What echolalia do you keep?
What songs do you perceive?
What rapture basks in the punctured rift?
Lofty bridge for a coy nose,
Do you discern the redolence of a rose?
How is it different from morose?
Dark and surreptitious lips
Many's the sin you have kissed,
Surfeit's the chance diffidence would deplete
The soul, and its tale would remain cloyed and sealed.
Jagged and frenzied teeth
What do you masticate and eat?
Apart from the carrions of defeat?
Eyes of iron, tattered and sleepless
What's the circumference of the dark circlets?
A pit that catches angry bullets
Can you envisage without the inflection of your palettes?
Such a small face, bearing horrendous bushels
And the pockmarks and scars yearns to be fondled
Craning the lambaste impaled in dowels
That slithers deeper in the slender shell.
Skinned bones, emaciated body
The rivulets pound exorbitantly
Of the wrought memo in the anthology
Of the consummate map of anatomy:
Memento mori.
Memento mori,
And I meditated upon vanity.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.