Lavish, trainspotting party

In the penthouse of illusions

everyone gorges on delusions.

Lost to reality,

numb, uncapable of inquiry

high on a cup of tea,

in love with hemp

indulging on snow,

everybody at this party

gets kicks out of blows.

If it’s extreme

with really tight denim

If it’s shallow

with tinges of hollow

If it’s bitchy

and a tiny bit witchy

If it draws blood

and mixes it with mud

they laugh, they scream, they dream.

They go along with the scheme

a cheap and shabby trainspotting scene.

They feed their brains with more gin,

discard the board games.

They just drink and grin,

they infuse their bodies to the beam

with liquor, drugs and toxic fumes.

The flowers that could be in bloom

have become just that….mean.

Everybody at this lavish party

thinks is cool and a smarty,

but they are just petty and dirty.

Overindulging in trifling banter,

full of rancour

pretend and try to impress,

on the rhythms of dance,

themselves and each other.

And them being flirty….

they are just thirsty

for all the feelings they have lost

when all the simple things in life they tossed.

Unbearably loud and absolutely meaningless

those pop songs, those repetitive house tunes

top off this lavish, tedious party.

And they’ll all be the same

when they turn forty.

The art of loneliness

The immaculate, white wall of the sanatorium,

the fleas, the bugs, the absence of rugs,

the lack of sounds,

or the rat-a-tat-tat,

constantly penetrating

the enclosure of the lonely,

the peace of the one and only.

In the garden of solitude,

Where her and his only companions

are fleeting thoughts and sentient beings,

Loneliness becomes an art

and the vacant space

enough to fill the heart.

Is she lonely?

Is he alone?

They might be,

but vibrate in silence.

Hush…

For it is the art of loneliness!

Down on Earth

Down on Lonely Avenue

I tripped

On a hell of a shell

And I fell

Me, an urban hippie

My floral gown, ripped…

Down in the void

A misfit, a rugged bearded man

Escaping, condemning society, materialism

Created his den

An onion, maybe ten

Layers and layers of Zen

Down on Lonely Avenue

My bloody knees

I lost my keys!

I might even have a kidney disease

Please… freeze, or maybe sneeze

To be accident-prone used to be fun

Like a pun

Now, it’s just a bull run.

Down in the void

I try to hold my own

Away from it all

At times, a Buddha in my soul

Seldom, as mad as Sigmund Freud

It’s quiet and free

under this Banyan tree

It’s lonely

only me and the green tea.

Down on Lonely Avenue

I crawl on concrete

I almost lost my wit

Everyone’s laughing at my outfit

My pain, my care

I wanted to transmit

Yet… the masses only perceive

that my cardigan is vintage and double- knit

Down in the void

The retired fellow

On a pension scheme

Of one and a half marshmallow

Banished himself and his cello

to this world of mellow

down bellow.

He renounced the sun

and all of its yellow.

Down on Lonely Avenue

The cruel with all their expensive fuel

Invaded the street

Their feet clad in meat

They bargain and tweet

I admit my defeat

Descend in the void

Oh, wonder!

Who is this other humanoid?