Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet


Don't mess with lies; it would hedonistically massacre you with its fangs of vindictively flagrant prejudice, 


 


Don't mess with the scorpion; it would so ballistically permeate its venomously curled tail into your nimble flesh; that you'd never be able to raise your hindside, 


 


Don't mess with the Sun; it would burn you to infinitesimal moles of inane ash; which wouldn't be accepted even by the land of disastrously disappearing oblivion, 


 


Don't mess with the Shark; it would pulverize every element of your countenance to such a pulverized chowder; that wouldn't be visible with even the most contemporarily high powered telescope, 


 


Don't mess with the avalanche; it would treacherously bury you an infinite feet beneath your corpse; a place so scurrilously asphyxiating beneath the earth; where 


even darkness dreaded to dare, 


 


Don't mess with obsession; it would maniacally frazzle every sensuously sensitive vein of your persona; reduce you to such a bundle of delirious meaninglessness that even the coffins of hell would blatantly refuse, 


 


Don't mess with the ghost; it would wretchedly jinx you beyond the comprehensions of infinite infinity; torturing you to such an extent; that you vomited raw blood everytime you witnessed the contours of your face, 


 


Don't mess with the storm; it would inexhaustibly lambaste you against cold-blooded stone; till the time your bones felt that wholesomely gruesome extinction was a better alternative instead, 


 


Don't mess with the knife; it would slice you into so many unsparing countless bits; that even the most hideously barbaric vultures would find it bizarrely gory to digest, 


 


Don't mess with the lion; it wouldn't given you even the most evanescent chance to fulfill your last wish; before it gobbled you like a robust mosquito for its afternoon lunch, 


 


Don't mess with corruption; it would make every step of your blissfully resplendent existence; more egregiously strangulating than the werewolves of ghoulishly satanic hell, 


 


Don't mess with the vampish seductress; she would firstly tantalize you to realms beyond supremely ecstatic paradise; only to mercilessly excoriate apart every bit of your skin; for stitching her compassionate night-coat, 


 


Don't mess with the gallows; they would surreptitiously creep upon you in your celestially contented slumber; to make it nefariously and irretrievably permanent, 


 


Don't mess with the bat; it would so barbarously pluck the whites and blacks of your beautiful eyes; that your face would dissolve into laconically inconspicuous space for times immemorial, 


 


Don't mess with the mirage; it would satiate the chords of your agonizingly charred throat till beyond eternal eternity; before eventually making you lick granules of dry sand with acidulous thorns embedded inside; instead, 


 


Don't mess with lightening; it would numb the quintessential nexus of your existence to such a threshold; that even the most cannibalistic swords massacring your head would seem to you as a flutter of a seductive eyelash, 


 


Don't mess with symbiotism; it would sodomize the chapters of your harmonious survival in such a way; that traumatic incarceration would become your sole mantra to whimperingly exist, 


 


Don't mess with blood; it would abandon you forever in the gutterpipe of ostracizing deceit; beheading you as a lecherously parasitic alien; although you were its cardinally very own, 


 


And don't mess with love; it would grant you such a diabolical death for betraying and tampering with its insuperably Omnipotent spirit; that life in any form; shape or fraternity; would never ever in even the most obsolete of birth; accept you once again



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Don`t Mess With Love

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