osho
11-07-2011, 02:37 AM
I wrote a bucket of poems
Canvassed rolls of paintings
Danced to her heart’s gratification
Schemed ideas to noose her
She is in my thought
The idea of food idea only
This can go without end
At the end of the day I live unfulfilled
The thought runs through my nerves
I feel intoxicated for a while
I want to catch up with the reality the thought can render me
Her spongy bosoms and luscious lips
Lust is a must
I do not want to play phony
I have seen enough of ascetics
This ethereal gap and unseen reality is haunting me
I want her and her stuff, her words and her caresses
Together we will fashion the fullness of us
And we will have a thousand and one poets
To write a bunch of romantic verses
But amidst this imagination she misunderstood me
And neither is love happening
Nor poets are writing poems
I am in between, a little bit stretched and a little bit evocated
Busy with weaving a mansion of dreams
I
Canvassed rolls of paintings
Danced to her heart’s gratification
Schemed ideas to noose her
She is in my thought
The idea of food idea only
This can go without end
At the end of the day I live unfulfilled
The thought runs through my nerves
I feel intoxicated for a while
I want to catch up with the reality the thought can render me
Her spongy bosoms and luscious lips
Lust is a must
I do not want to play phony
I have seen enough of ascetics
This ethereal gap and unseen reality is haunting me
I want her and her stuff, her words and her caresses
Together we will fashion the fullness of us
And we will have a thousand and one poets
To write a bunch of romantic verses
But amidst this imagination she misunderstood me
And neither is love happening
Nor poets are writing poems
I am in between, a little bit stretched and a little bit evocated
Busy with weaving a mansion of dreams
I