The Dipsomaniac.

        The Dipsomaniac.

Bottles are of different sizes,
Filled with liquids of labelled tastes
Like the castes of men on earth.
Once intoxicated,all bottles are alike
Like all men in a bundle of brotherhood.
Mixing is a matter of pride
In the world of liquor and love.
It is like blood,boasting of its single color,
Though the blood groups are like bottles of
Boundless brands and castes of men.
Once drunk,the mind becomes
An O positive group of blood with the vigor
Of a universal donor,in a spirit of giving.
All is fair in the field of boozing.
Oh,the spirit does not hang on but hangs over.
Like the egg yolk which is heavier than the egg white,
The hangover is heavier than the enjoyment.
Memories of boasts and brawls keep on
Hurling thoughts of guilt upon the conscious mind
Like stones being pelted at street dogs.
Family figures pose a foggy picture
Like ghosts rising from above the tombs.
The conscious mind is ever a curse
For one, who surrenders the subconscious
To another round of intoxicating hangover.
                                                         P.Chandrasekaran.