A Cloak and Dagger Junction ( a poem addressing teen age issues)

Standing at an enigmatic confluence today,

I’m a chaperone to a bloody tussle,

A tussle between me and myself,

A tussle set to wrest me apart,

A tussle that throbs the core of my heart,

A tussle whose sequel shall festoon my tomorrow.

An uncanny cacophony clogs my mind,

My flesh reeks of rebellion,

My diaphragm feels a ceaseless thrust,

And tranquility with vehemence is pushed behind.

What were sacred dogmas yesterday,

Seem annoyingly didactic today,

Even I am bemused,

For the warm embrace cladding me in robes of security,

Today feels like the cruel clench of treacherous claws.

Barbs of eerie perceptions,

Urticate my tender tissues.

There is an urgent call to be blasphemous,

Especially to my partisan’s counsels,

Counsels which once were mottos of my life,

Counsels which were the embers of rectitude in me.

From a sanctimonious world,

Where I bragged of probity,

Now there is an exigency to step out,

To step out and enter an erroneous world.

The ingress, though I know ,

Would ensue delinquency,

I am not enough brawny to liquidate the impulse,

The Herculean impulse mangles my righteousness,

And tactfully inoculates me with provocation,

I can endure emphysema,

But not the urge to smoke,

I cannot give up the itch to sip in booze,

Rather be ready to endeavor a choke.

A bacchanalian grin pacifies,

A precipitous heart ,

Despite its ugly radiance,

The inceptive descent of sensuality,

Feels like the first touch of spring,

A voluptuous body illegitimately defines,

Love in my theseraus,

The heightened libido has a semblance to the restless waves,

The restless waves of a full moon night.

My heart and mind have got into a brawl,

To decide whether I am a callow or precocious,

But I feel , I feel as if I am prodigal,

Yes, prodigal dejectedly transformed from a prodigy,

I have voluntarily shoved aside,

The colossal barrel of nectar,

And I am struggling to gulp down the bitter poison,

I know its bitter but can’t resist the incitement,

The stench of a pernicious tomorrow,

Stimulates my olfactory lobes,

Though my previous sanctimonious world,

Extends its hands, ready to take me back,

I am woefully panglossian about the world I thrive in,

But I know, the synapse I stand today,

Cant bear me for long,

It’ll soon chuck me out,

For there are other trippers too.

I have to fabricate an abode,

An abode entitled to shelter me,

Shelter me when the junction will do away,

Lest I shall prepare to putrefy in a chasm,

A menacing, perilous chasm.