Cricket is the only game which lures me so much;
And then engrosses me so much.
That craze would never drive out of me…
My inspiration was ‘Yuvraj Singh’,
Only then I arose to identify that King.
Once Yuvi’s record of six sixes in six *****,
The firmament was incredible for certain minutes:
That was the first time I witnessed cricket,
And India’s triumph provided me a mind-blowing buzz to watch cricket,
Nevertheless continuing with ***** and wickets.
I would turn crazy when Indian cricketers approach the ground,
And that would certainly not halt lest they are made proud.
This T20 shadowed by IPL,
Made me to by stand that awe-inspiring sport.
Chennai Super Kings-my favorite,
Followed by Royal Challenges Bangalore …
And lots more hilarious teams and cricketers.
When Chris Gayle approaches…
Tsunami warning must be lifted and “Gayle” (gale) warning must be given!
That’s how cricket relocates…
Most matches concluding in the closing over
And some others in the finishing ball…
The most exhilarating sport
Read more →and the format-
IPL is all fun for me…
With cheer leaders and the draped studio;
With cameras and videos
And at last the much awaited IPL trophy-
Cricket is all that it needs!!!

on the grass-land
in-between

cast their shadows

once the folk-song
once the rare cotton

so much sky-kissing blue
are the horses of sunday

with glittering sunshine
on its white sail  

the bird
that has flown from the corn-field
with a rosy balloon on its back

now in the evening of the girl
having her husband alive
the smell of salted turmeric
engrosses the cloth-end

not from so far-end
not in so much noise

coming nearer
in a more whispering voice

the mushroom of the lips
sees its face
in the green of rain-drops

Eyelids descend like a guillotine,
decapitating the visual stimuli
my mind engrosses upon in daylight.

Then there is a numbness as the
cascading representations of my
day are all rendered darkened silence.

*"My day is colour, my dreams are black and white,

Shuddering violently throughout
the void of life,
desolate anomalies keep
harboring corruptive interludes
of transgression

This...transgression...if you will...
engrosses all in its path
with...

Defiance.

A hostile challenge to
venture upon
all crossroads
which leads towards Poseidon

Thence,

Maraudering throughout these crossroads,
devastation itself pulverizes
all hope, rending it futile
for those who wish to aid

Caliginous clouds set the tone...
for the sullen events lurking near...

However,

This, only but a mere
beginning
Soon we shall
Intro the Wicked

my addiction to your love and body engrosses me so
your love in your eyes shine in my soul your body so beautiful my Paradise complete
loving everything you do to me
every thing you want every thing you need
wanting to be the air you breathe
addicted to you your body makes me smile
pleasure going on way beyond time
peaking sensations contentment so deep
you and I will forever be
love and lust in harmony
moving in circles inside of you
feeling all the love I feel from you
addicted to you words could never contain
the pleasure I feel when you moan my name
so lover with your body strong emotions deep
your body and mine forever to be love done always addiction so complete
can't get enough you
never will there ever divide
my addiction for your love and body till the end of time

Around a glittered lake I stroll,
its water flecked with spots of peach.
Specks of light that whisper warm,
the dreams of homes that live there, each.

The glowing hue I follow round,
but stopped by something soft.
I lift my head, my face, my eyes
to the figure before me, lost.

A halo of watery moon light,
hangs about its head.
"I am but a lonely shadow",
is what the stranger said.

Filled with disbelief I feel,
my heart contract with fright.
The dust path billows beneath leather boots,
twirling away from the sight.

A darkened arm curls around my own
and the bitter wind be stills.
"Fear not" the shadow whispers
like the wind amongst the hills.

Enclosed by warmth a sudden,
a fluttering appears.
Transported to the woods above,
just this befriended darkness near.

Hours dance about the night
as sheltered secrets I am told.
Warmth engrosses all around
whilst the mellow evening grows but old.

Sunlight creeps into the sky
and new love begins to fade.
"Find me not by morning,
only drifting behind the shade."

Heated passion engrosses your every nerve, exploding sensations through your entire body.

You're so in love that nothing matters. Heavens bliss shining down on you constantly.

Heated arguments implement an impression of hate into every tissue of your embodiment.

The absolute definition of what you have come to call a “relationship”… Heaven and Hell.

Voidness replaced with hope.
Positive lines sprouts seeds of happiness.
Growing,
        Growing inside her is a work of art.

Ambiance of mirth.
Brown eyes enchanting her soul.
Running,
        Running swiftly away with her heart.

Thoughts of confusion.
Assaults her mind.
Who?
       Who is this inglorious wanderer?

The word summons her to death.
“Where did I fail?” engrosses her.
GUILTY
       GUILTY emits as her miracle child is committed for ******.

unbelievable, i suddenly became entwined in a cultural project of argument, and had an opinion... what could suddenly come next?! i start biting my nails, and farting into a cushion, and think about ageing, seriously, buy seriously i mean: buying a car, a change of clothes worth a month, and forget cooking my own food, eating out on the town every night... yeah... growing up... looking serious... looking primmed for the worth of life: wholly political....... sign me up!

when i hear talk of the *superego
and the id
i don't think of anything to say,
i feel they are akin to the necessary
constructs of the world around us,
e.g. (foremostly) the self-employed...
the same with the "hierarchy"
of these supposed psychology unionists...
these so-called fractions...
  what kills fictional exploits?
i.e. writing books?
well, the premise that the superego
and the id are feline, cosy,
cushioned in their reclusive naturalisation
of our demand for dialectics or argument....
these constructs are merely
automata... they are fractions
of the automaton...
       they are auto-
       concise and precise enough
to stress an ego...
    and god... didn't we **** off the Romans
to a point, that still engrosses itself
in keeping the last remnant,
the Vatican care to call a colleseum a church
and the two akin in being eternal?
you seen the anglican congregation lately?
  it's hardly worth a comment akin
to a football pitch.
        it's enforced narrative...
all the cases for superego's or id's existence...
       both best summarised by the prefix auto-...
or: lacking the ability to imitate Dumas...
   you don't actually get far with both / either
of them...
    this automaton schism of what the ego
can actually propose is gone...
                it's a new age schism, after all...
but unlike the ego, which you can actually
control, or cage within a pentagon of the sensual
barricade... thankfully the ego is too
prone to evaporation... too trickly,
             too out of reach...
hence the need to recount a counter
trinity of the religious tradition,
with a superego and the id....
               just enough fakes to **** of narration
altogether...
   superego and id are of the same strand,
i.e. auto-,
   meaning they are the foodstuffs of narration...
just about the same time
a plumber fixes a toilet,
an intellectual (also paid) will talk of
the superego...
         to me the said intellectual is nothing more
than an automaton...
                   because i think the dissection
of the individual is nothing but fake,
contrary to atheism and theism:
truly of man design...
       i see it as nothing but a quick
escape,
  both superego and id are made into auto-,
i.e. for the easy narrative...
for they are just that...
          maybe my argument comes from the fact
that i have no narrative to give unto
these two entities...
but thankfully god...
                 and how i can see
ego, superego and id in a Christian dogma...
but please tell me where schizophrenic
symptoms originate, in which unit,
please?!
          oh wait... you can't!
it's easier treating everything with a crucifix!
and stigma!
          happy days... ah...
i'm starting to think of pooh bear
and have a need to cry...
         but as i already said,
writing novels is about nearly dead...
  given the dictators of superego and id...
meaning that the only non-automaton
fraction of a human psyche is the ego,
that false sense of identity, of the nearest
testing ground for mortality...
      when i hear intellectuals really get to grips
and make grit with the fractions superego
and id i start to summarise them with
auto-, a prefix denoting that they're robots...
    and if this could only be the crowning achievement
of a modern-day heartfelt scene of alienation...
nope... i'd rather be a fishmonger
  at Billingsgate at 3a.m.
              i like these Freudian fixations,
they express the fact that i can't write novels...
and i can spot auto- narratives derived from them...
       just like i can spot priests and
devotees climbing hills on their knees...
   as ever, to give the ego stability...
    to give it everything that death apparently
"robs it of"...
                it wasn't enough to give the ego
   a pronoun reversal and a free-reign on using
i with all that much, unnecessary theory...
      it wasn't even for a theory base
on the care for: keeping the tick-tock ticking....
       i can only suggest that we're mutilated
beyond hope,
          and that the only hope we have is that
heaven is riddled with all things bureaucratic...
    and that hell is merely guided by:
take to things as they are, not worth being
taken to by two.
              the Koranic nadir-principality of forlorn
statistics comes only ever so often,
and when it weakens, the arguments begin -
alias: how to avoid a tautological argument...
    that's me, thinking i invented
a refrigerator.
  that's really tautology...
    i mean what's happening now...
   with a sudden stench akin to foot-stuffs
from a supermarket with a u.b.d. and b.b.d.,
akin to the Koran... having sentenced one
of the either acronyms to current affairs...
       still...
i hear the arguments to keep the Freudian
architecture, and i can only think of one
human and two robots in the construct.

Live each moment gratefully

The lives I watched when I was young
They used to pull me in
I used to feel the characters
and used to let them in

The lives I watch are just the same
But as I watch I cannot say
That which I see engrosses me
My mind begins to stray

Asking questions of the world,
And asking questions of my life
In which I cannot feel the thrill
Or feel the passion in a bite

As I am lost from questioning
There are moments of enjoyment, yes
They take exception to routine
What satisfaction from success?

And why the satisfaction then
And what success do we define?
So insignificant a role we play
Within the scheme of space and time



I di-sected my reality,  
Laid bare the nervous thirst to live,
And cut the nerves that there did lie
By asking why, what does life give?



Am I now immune from joy?
Empty, as I’m led to death
And cold amid infinity
As black mist blinds and steals my breath?

Am I right to feel this cold
Should ambition be forsake
Should we revoke the warmth of man,
To recognise our solemn fate?

|*|

I say that now the answer’s no
So please go forth, and bring me laughter.
Warm my soul with man’s affairs
And warm my heart with love, soon after

My dysfunctional reality
Ignites upon the thought of you
A face so pure, so clear to see
Gives me hope and guides me through

To ask such questions caused me pain
No answers came upon request
Nothing that would keep me sane
Bar what man, himself, on me bequest

My life the richer to have asked,
And known yet now left despair,
As the contrast helps me celebrate
Mankind and nature’s beauty, fair

To ask such questions caused me pain
But now I have a greater reason,
Nothing that will keep me sane,
Bar joy each day, and every season

Your soul your self your face so clear
So clear to see
So clear to hear
You remind to forget my fear

To see both rhyme…
and reason here.

I see you and only wish to hold you.
It's all I want to do sometimes.

Sometimes my heart aches with the thought of you in my arms.
It encompasses me and engrosses me.

Me, something that loses meaning with every use.
You, an idea that never ceases to escape.

Escape is for the ill-willed.
I'm perfectly content living in this home-made prison.

Prison is a concept not alien to me.
But if I had the choice, I'd choose prison over the old "freedom" I once claimed.

We lay in shackles
While the wood crackles
From the fire that consumes
And engrosses the world with fumes
Of desperation, and pity
A self-destructive species that thinks it’s witty
We look upon the stars
As if the world was a buried jar
With the slippery glass there’s no way out
Just an overwhelming drought
Billy would say we didn’t start it
A common answer that appears to be legit
But isn’t it our duty?
To protect this innocent raw beauty
To uphold the ideals we see fit
Or has the human race quit

I don't know if too much time has passed.
I do not know if the weight of silence is too onerous.
I don't know if I'm wasting my time,
if the bonds freed themselves of you and I..,
if I freely walk through your mind,
if you miss the succulence of my grazes
or if my body heat still gives you respite..
even if it is a distant memory.  

I don't know if the ground cracked open,
if I got buried in the earthquake of the despondent.
I don't know, if my eyes still give you answers,
even if it’s by looking at that old picture,
that barely show the features you most loved about me.    

I don't know if you remember my words,
if dawn feels the same with the passing of the years.
I don't know if I damaged your soul...,
All I know is that I miss you today My Love.
That our love remains as valid as the sun,
cornered in that space, where our nomenclature
did not know of censorship.

I don't know if you forgot my words,
If passion is now a widow,
or if she deported herself to the land of misfortune.    
I don't know if your extremities remember
crossing the basins of my exasperated passion.
If it’s too intrepid the air for wanting to provide oxygen,
or if the lack of it- engrosses you in my intervals,
or if you're feeling bullied by those memories that tear up your spirit.    

I don't know if it’s too  long and heavy for you the road.
If I am a beautiful scroll of illusions in your mind,
or if my verses are specters in the illusion of another romance.  

All I know is that I miss you in my sunrises,
that my legs look to return to that road
that filled them with happiness;
because you existed in that period, where
the day boasted of its power and brilliance.
© LeydisProse
7/2/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse//

___________________

 
­

No sé si ha pasado mucho tiempo,
no sé si pesa mucho el silencio.
No sé si estaré perdiendo el tiempo,
si los lazos se liberaron..,
Si alguna vez camino por tus sesos;
No sé si te hagan falta mis besos,
si el calor de mi cuerpo, todavía te brinda alivio,
aunque sea en un recuerdo.

No sé si se abrió la tierra,
si me enterraste en el terremoto de la desesperanza.
No sé, si mi mirada aun te dé respuestas,
aun sea viendo aquella foto…hoy tan añeja.

No sé si recuerdas mis palabras,
Si se siente igual el alba con el pasar de los años.
No sé si te hice daño.., solo sé, que hoy te extraño.
Que está vigente aquel amor, arrinconado en ese espacio,
donde nuestra nomenclatura no sabía de censura.
No sé si se te olvido nuestro vocablo, si enviudo la pasión,
si ella misma se expatrio en el país de la desventura.  

No sé si tus dedos recuerdan atravesar
las cuencas de mis pasiones inquietas.
Si es intrépido el aire -por querer producirte alivio..,
si la falta de él te sumerge en mi tiempo,
si te sientes tiranizado por esas remembranzas
que abaten tus sentimientos.

No sé, si es largo y pesado hoy tu camino.
Si soy un bello pergamino de ilusiones en tu mente,
o si mis versos son apariciones en la ilusión de algún romance.

Solo sé que te extrañan mis amaneceres,
mis piernas buscan retomar esa carretera..,
que las llenaban de alegría porque tú, existías en
ellas - - cuando el día quería mostrar su brío y también su fuerza.

Have you ever felt utterly lost for thought? An urge to act, boiling in your center, but in your mind... The only thing you can find is the question that leads you back to where you started in the first place. In this case, what is my meaning? As melancholy engrosses my being, I search for a feeling more than just the buzzing in my face, or the pressure in my temple. It's supposed to be simple, after all, they're still just symbols we made up in the first place? Stemming from a need to communicate, but it's become so complicated. I'm contemplating ways of connecting with you, but the medium seems inescapable... will anyone ever really know me? No... just the bits and pieces I allow, details seamlessly left out of the shadow, as if all you ever knew was the light. I know it's cliché of a Scorpio, to act like I know how to get inside locked doors, but you'd never even realize that I've already seen past the lies, your eyes speak worlds beyond the minds filter. And I'm so tired... of trying to be honest and getting punished for it. But giving you what you desire is satisfying, even if it's all just an illusion. As if you don't know it's a fake... you've just convinced yourself that it's better this way, cause romance is defined this particular day and age, by mermaids, and beasts, and the ***** industry. I've given in enough to know, it's ******* difficult to try something new, but jealously is a toxin created inside of you. We were never meant to own one another, just to love one another, but what is love when just being together isn't enough? You want to know me, you gotta know you, otherwise you're undeserving, and I'm sorry if that's cold, but my time here is precious, and if I don't find my way out of this soon... she may just pass me by...