Wednesday, January 6, 2021


Words conspire with each other 
And devise a vilest plot ever—
To pencil some faux poems
And emboss them with a heart
On the empty scrolls of minds
Of one and many a soul

Nothing but a motley of poems
Crocheted with tall tales of femme fatales 
And beauteous balls and bards
Of the human world and heaven
And many a thing obvious 
And yet wrought in oblivion

PS: An old poem from my virtually forgotten oeuvre. 

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A Slice of Goulburn