Poetry

1. BLOOD RED APPLE JUICE
I flung pointed pebbles leaning on the balcony rail,
gnawed incessantly at my soft finger flesh,
poked at entangled knots of hair mixing long fingernails with scalp zone,
spit loads of saliva on pavements of stale concrete,
kicked violently at loose chunks of sand lying unattended,
tore every bit of transparent cloth in close proximity,
trampled on infinite insects that lurked infuriatingly across my way,
devoured solid bones of calcium, crushing them with my teeth,
peeled crisp wall paint in plenty with incoherent strokes of footnail,
ripped triangular caps from compressed bottles of soda drink,
spilled jars containing carbon ink on satiny covers of the bedroom mattress,
plucked masses of grass blades rolling languidly in undulating landscape of the
garden,
transformed pencil ends to distorted junk by repetitive chewing,
added tones of salt to fruit juice before consumption,
pedaled my bicycle till a river of sweat descended down my neck,
revolved my body in clockwise journeys at electric beats of music,
trimmed waste hair emanating sparsely from twin nostrils,
applied scented lotion to the back of palm to revitalize skin,
roamed aimlessly through solitary streets at the onset of midnight.
Weird situations of nil work had made me fidgety,
Obsessions for exorbitant adventure seemed to be fast fading,
I strolled at fast pace across the periphery of my fruit orchard,
Clambered up a tall tree bearing blood red apple,
Snatched it deftly from within its house of Green leaf,
Drank sweet juice charged with small pints of ravishing flavour,
From deep cores within its delicately tender heart.