Medic As casual as strolling on a graveled pathway in a close-by parkland, words cycle towards me on my inner track where ideas lap dance with a tumescent dash. The first draft is born. This baby needs a battery of nurses and other paraphernalia. I’m the doc on duty. Summon the accoucheur for stillborns. Memento Mori Campestral locales furnish the song and dance routine with a context. Ill-lighted rooms caution me of you. When their consciousness darkles, I am snug as a bug. Why does sadness complect my cheeriness? Is alertness a curse? Nonfiction Google and other griefs chase my working hours. Nights are cut out for graphology. In temple of needs my pelage seeks your petting. My god it seems is huffy. Fair Play The…
“Mythomane’s Truth,” Poetry by Sanjeev Sethi
Mythomane’s Truth If we could retrofit ourselves? I would not be me nor you, you. Imagine me without infirmities. I would no longer be po-faced, pudgy and potbellied. My eyes wouldn’t swim sans Adam’s ale. If any of this gladdens your gut: I reckon, you aren’t for me. ** Flux From entanglements of existence I’m in firmament of my own. In roll-call of needs anamnesis mitigates. Past is polished with coats of one’s inner complexion. Peeps are like diaries different page different piece: same smell. ** Vision When you unself from a situation or skein: you deliver lavish dividends for yourself. Opportune distancing mends the ache: of the eventualities of our exploits. Propinquity bedims the perspective: leaving us to lust after our parakeet or pelt. *** Sanjeev Sethi is published in over 25 countries. He has more than 1200 poems printed or posted…