Saturday, February 24, 2018

Daipayan Nair writes

Overall Woman

In-between my face and my flesh rests my coffin
Endless separation of reality from mortality
I am good as its undying smell, 
Seldom the odor 
Decaying of humanity loved as a petrichor
Better as its fake skin of 'real' patriarchy 
Where my projected tomb, as 'male' as my erect pyre
Men and women bow their head 
With undying flames before my dead fire
Best as a few commercial strands 
Acting as freed souls but with conditions
Growing on it
Honest, heartless hypoctites  
The need of this world, with corporate beauties
Whose ambitions are too open
On a hideously closed scalp
These have taken up a color 
Not called 'naked' anymore 
Honestly dubious creatures with dubiety of acts
Now lust fingers, barbaric fingers can 'create'
Whirlpool of dilemma, winds be easily polygamous 
Strands when single, can be a creeper, a meteor, a snake
In all desperate moves, they hide my lonely face
Unchartered pubes make many a tomb green
Society with strands makes a stranded society, 
My suicidal rope that meaningful 
In its faster grabbing 
Now women be easily crushed 
Their distorted body called beauty 
They're now the evolutionarily heartless, 
Posing again and again 
Body, a personal selfie with a national pout
Every stance, a fall further
How many will watch them hang
By their own hair, silhouetted and shampooed  
Watch them silently choke one another
When the heir still remembers 
His birth too, a visible lubrication, 
An invisible nutrition
Clit, nature's forced myth
21st century 'shit', man-made commode seat
Solar, molecular eclipse fallacy made hit 
To jerk off the living for an imperfect surreal
Stone hearted sperm into a stone hearted egg
Cracking enough to not be bare
In this armpit of guns, cleavage valleys of hidden canons
Political sadism begins; ends in 
The vagina of menstrual (Men-is-true-for-all)
When the breakage of my proud body
Still agrees to live a divided life 
How many of you will sleep with me
And remember my belly 
Choose being my belly 
Stretch your limbs and legs, joining me
Fail me as an 'overall woman'
And I can only release my burden
 Related image
Tombstone of Robert McCarroll, Mt. Moriah Cemetery, Deadwood, South Dakota, USA. "Erected by his wife Margaret McCarroll"

1 comment:

  1. George V. Ayres, a noted businessman in Deadwood, once remarked, "The climate in the Black Hills is so damn healthy that you would have to kill a man to start a cemetery.” The city did all it could to promote his injunction, becoming one of the most notoious boom towns in the nation. Mt. Moriah was established on a plateau overlooking Deadwood Gulch in the northern Black Hills in 1878, 2 years after the town was founded; Deadwood Gulch was named by John B. Pearson, a gold prospector who noted the large number of dead trees that lined the canyon walls. Due to the gold rush the mining town population quickly grew to 5,000. Among the earliest residents were Eleanor Dumont ("Madame Moustache") and Dirty em, who set up a profitable gambling casino, while 15-year-old Amy Helen Dorothy Bolshaw ("Dora FuFan") arrived to establish a brothel (she coined the term "cathouse"); her chief rival was 16-year-old Mollie Johnson, the "Queen of the Blondes" -- 3 popular prostitutes who worked for her. Among the famous frontier figures buried there are James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickock (a famed gunman who was shot in the back playing poker in a local saloon; the hand he was holding -- black aces, black 8s -- became known as a "dead man's hand" but was not associated with the lawman for another 1/2 century, in Frank Wilstach's "Wild Bill Hickok: The Prince of Pistoleers") and next to him his paramour Martha Canary ("Calamity Jane"), one of DuFran's employees, who claimed that she went after Hickok's assassin with a meat cleaver since she had left her guns at home.


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