Poetry

30 years of experience,
that’s where my poetry comes from,
it isn’t research or some form
of mystical guidance, isn’t
books or scripted rhymes telling me
this is how we function and see,
isn’t otherworldly forces
or dreams or snorting crack cocaine
(although I wouldn’t mind my sense
altered while I listen to Green
Day singing Give me Novacaine)
isn’t procedural study
of art, hell, everyone’s in a
hurry, getting a damn degree,
and I’m here being good ol’ me,
and I guess such is life huh? Meh.
Nah, 30 years of mean street walks
and dirty cigarette shops; puke
in the commode; having my rocks
sucked on by women who hate me,
yeah, 30 years of finding me
and all or whatever that means
while I sip on coffee and lose
my beans, before the clock strikes noon,
a great swoon! I hang by the noose,
and then I’m in Hell – Devil’s nuke,
that’s where my poetry comes from.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

12 responses

    • I don’t believe in muses
      but hurlin abuses
      doesn’t have its uses
      and I’m just rhyming for the sake of it
      because your comments leave me in a fit
      I dunno what to say most of the time
      They just go over my head and the rhyme!
      I’m envious, envious I tell you
      But keep commenting, it’s the attention I love
      as much as you!

  1. I don’t know how to tell my curious
    8 year old where babies come from.
    After reading your prose, Nitin,
    I think your the man for the job
    … If I may impose.

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