Monday, February 9, 2009

Wimp, a constant imp.,

Imps never grow up into wishful cherubs,
for they’re ever loved for being so impsome.,
but that is just all that they can ever be.

O wimp, my imp, now don’t you beam,
You’re wrecking the midnight misery aye,
Go nibble and gnaw my buckskin strap,
And make caverns exult your heavenly cries.,

O wimp, my boy, let’s crunch your limbs,
And shred all skin off your sinewy trunk,
We’ll toss you around and whip you hard,
And such playful tricks shall keep you young.,

O imp, your impiness demands,
Such loathsome grime that the sane can’t handle,
And towards the end when you come out tops,
You’re never aloof from a searing scandal.,

O wimp, so jade, but tread not in rush,
In the swarm of men, all good monkey-eyed,
Or I’ll to bury your thorns and wind your tail,
To hoard away from imps with scouted sides.,

O wimp, deared imp, that hallowed howl,
Shall it flood all naughtiness in men,
Until that day, we’ll redden all hands,
To saunter all lands, as prided imps again.,

Stanza 3 by Mayank.,
Theme, quite shamelessly, and without permission, lifted from a post on Kokil's blog


Mohit Rodeja said...

i like it!
my word isn't too tall, but i like it!

Ko said...

pleased, surprised and charmed :)

Divya said...

finally the imp took some time off his devilish schedule to write a poem,a brilliant one :)

Magic Mukul said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Magic Mukul said...

Down wid censorship

cant even comment freely

mayank said...

i read it once again..I know your reservations against poetry, but it would be wonderful if you'd write more