Monday, 28 July 2008

Fish faux pas

As I swim through a vast ocean of rather pleasing (or displeasing) sights, I wonder to myself why the sea is devoid of a fairly forgotten necessity- Sunshine.

Is it because of the lack of light that the fish sport such blasphemous garbs?
Or maybe it’s the brine that seeped into their brains through their ears.
(notice how fish either don't have or have very little of those.)

Lost in a school of red headed trouts, I fin my way through with a false stitched tongue while I get nudged by smelly tricoloured sharks. Green stripes on orange, and brown scales clubbed with purple swim by with confidence and agility. Jostled by a pink spotted carp and a few fluorescent hakes breathing down my neck, it makes me spit the salty taste out.
Of course the bright yellow clown fish do what they’re famous for- Blind me.

On second thoughts, blinding clown fish can be forgiven for the disastrous sights they offer to hide from me, but when an eye piercing… *never mind*

Comes up for air.

Deep down under, where pretty corals and breathtaking inhabitants lie, happens to be one of natures most appreciated assets and I on the other hand, look at it as hideously ugly and a ghastly sight?

You're now invited to my mind of girls called fish while Marianna’s trench remains a Beaute.

Thursday, 10 July 2008

"You've got mail"

Red and stout, alone on the kerb,

His mood never screamed; Do not disturb.

Ever waiting, with black lips open,

Looking out for passerby's, men or women.

Hungry forever, he looked for a bite,

Alas, he ate something I write.

For years he stood and gobbled my thoughts.

Zilch as an output for inputs as lots.

No. 201, Archbald street,

"You've got mail" the postman bleat.

Drowned in the soup of curiosity,

I ran eagerly to my serendipity.

I stared at the envelope,

With optimism and hope,

*pinch* I couldn't be dreaming,

Even if I was I wouldn't try waking.

I finally drew myself to the glue,

Unaware of its origin from where or from who,

I grasped it tightly, a firm hold.

My impatient fingers ripped the fold.

Shell-shocked, I dropped it on the ground,

The sight of the sheet made me drown.

I rubbed my eyes and hastily blinked,

Reality bit me, not a word was inked.