BEAUTY SYLVAN ( a jejune poem)

Taking advantage of innocence,
Or failure at guarding one’s privacy,
As beauty sylvan ‘ poses’ with prefixed ‘ex’
Catering to quest primitive,
It’s no worthy of censure,
Rather an excuse,
Take it lightly.
Lack of sensitivity on the one hand,
Curiosity on the other.
But don’t bother.
It might happen with any one
At meek moments alone;
A human error. Over?

When gender’s common, you can alert.
In case otherwise you can avert,
But you fail to do so.
Then enjoy yourself,
Or forget, forgive and forego the scene,
As if nothing was seen, nothing has been;
And that’s divine.
But what in effect occurs
The sporadic recurrence.

Lo! Wordsworth carried to his grave
The solitary reaper’s song,
And the daffodils’ dance.

TO THE OZ ( own zone) MASTERS

Lord and master
The stray dogs pose
In their own zones.
Hark them bark
At elephants
In streets and adjoining lanes
It’s easy to dodge, in case
The tusker sets a pace.
We treat our guests with love’
Unlike you who manhandle.
Desist from such inhuman acts,
Or ‘racist’ you are labeled.
The smallest may be your continent,
Don’t demo a heart still smaller,
Be patriots, not parochial
Globalization’s the order.………………………………………..

MY TYPE VERSE

MY TYPE VERSE

I don’t go for rhyme and rhythm
When I pen a verse;
Nor know how they creep in,
A blessing or a curse.
But I enjoy myself,
When words sing with sense,
And feel I’m not a fool,
Have a message for my friends.
…………………………………