How The Hell Can You Ever Dare? (poem) by Nikhil Parekh

How The Hell Can You Ever Dare?
by Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet → (All Poetry by Nikhil Parekh - Indian Poet)
Thursday, March 17, 2016 Rated "G" by the Author.

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Can you ever dare to call enchantingly mesmerizing fantasy; as dastardly unemployed; even in the most inanely bizarre of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call timelessly burgeoning innovation; as ghastily unemployed; even in the most treacherously delinquent of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call unsurpassably untamed sensuality; as murderously unemployed; even in the most sadistically remorseful of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call ubiquitously compassionate brotherhood; as salaciously unemployed; even in the most tyrannically incarcerating of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call blissfully symbiotic environment; as abjectly unemployed; even in the most hedonistically cadaverous of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the rhapsodically eternal seawave; as derogatorily unemployed; even in the most nefariously perverted of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the impeccably unconquerable lap of the divine mother; as satanically unemployed; even in the most torridly truculent of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the Omnipotent clouds in the sky; as maliciously unemployed; even in the most acrimoniously venomous of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the redolently Omnipresent rose; as lethally unemployed; even in the most cold-bloodedly bludgeoning of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the magically fructifying dewdrops; as preposterously unemployed; even in the most demonically unceremonious dreams? Can you ever dare to call the resplendently shimmering stars; as debasingly unemployed; even in the most deliriously lugubrious of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the mystically rubicund cheeks; as brutally unemployed; even in the most sardonically castigated of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the pristinely newborn child; as perfidiously unemployed; even in the most brazenly idiosyncratic of dreams? Can you ever dare to call the vivaciously exuberant peacock; as ignominiously unemployed; even in the most invidiously sinister of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the aisles of everlasting paradise; as vituperatively unemployed; even in the most egregiously embittered of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the seductively crimson crested nightingale; as horrendously unemployed; even in the most cannibalistically prurient of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call priceless streams of quintessentially perennial water; as horrifically unemployed; even in the most nonchalantly slavering of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the impregnably cardinal blacks of the eye; as lackadaisically unemployed; even in the most insidiously squandering of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the invincibly sequestering mountains; as unabashedly unemployed; even in the most perilously withering of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the Omnipotent seeds sown in emollient soil; as baselessly unemployed; even in the most profanely deteriorating of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the unceasingly enlightening rays of the Sun; as pugnaciously unemployed; even in the most capriciously flagrant of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the perpetual caverns of life-bestowing breath; as dangerously unemployed; even in the most ominously disoriented of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call royally peerless artistry; as fecklessly unemployed; even in the most haughtily sanctimonious of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the religion of unassailable humanity; as regretfully unemployed; even in the most obsoletely livid of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the crops spawning miraculously from mother soil; as diabolically unemployed; even in the most corruptly sodomized of your dreams? Can you ever dare to call the heaven of immortally insuperable love; as parsimoniously unemployed; even in the most unscrupulously wastrel of your dreams? Therefore how the hell can you ever dare to call a poet whose every ingredient of crimson blood is composed of nothing else but all of the above, and an infinite more astoundingly benevolent sensitivity; as threadbarely unemployed; even in the most hatefully stagnating of your dreams?