Myself, me and I, the three inner voices,
keep ejaculating, when silence needed.
Intutions, significances and progressions,
keep crusading, when deviations needed.
Zealous geniuses reverse pooped out arguments,
for whose sake, for whom, for what?
Questions search answers, ceaselessly,
in devalued, tantalizing world of withdrawn
arguments.
Charred impulses mounting splendorous disorders,
come to a manipulative outburst
like a pampered divorcee overcoming Oedipal woes.
Fragmentary gossips entail suave logics,
illogically accompanied by ideas in delirium.
Mildness encompasses ingeniously woven hopes,
that lie buried under masochistic adventures.






PS- A Citadel of Arguments is 55 part long poem in my book Ineluctable Stillness. This is part 11.