There is no context to this poem; it was a pure exodus of emotions. An expression / defence of romanticism in this capitalist, postmodern, post-ideological world.
why romanticism?
unbeknownst vacillate
under the sunβs jaws β
especially in Peshawar
every creature looks toward
the God of hunt β
to chill or to kill
for spooks, romance is an oddity of the past:
mere exaggeration β
penguins under aurora, holding hands,
or bees bending their castrated selves
(just like me)
to be liked by the queen
or dendrites like a dervish swirling
to the electric shocks caused by
hibiscus tea taste
all of it is Real*
and not real
tips of wolverine in a caged box
donβt prove the lack of jungle β
rather, it is exactly what proves
the beyond β
the majestic β
the chiselled neck of her
with sleek collarbone
let me bleed β all my love in it β
and a silver locket on it
let me rust it with my poisonous lips
please
*The Real, as per Lacan, is the world bereft of rules, codes, or any kind of system β a pure, nonsensical, non-language realm of consciousness.

I’m recuperating a bit as it has been intense on BP but I’m going to reread ur poem a few more times..
Each line evokes a very striking image in my mind. Unfortunately I am unable to discern a holistic pattern.
It feels like I’m in a room with a lot of different hanging postcards each with an unassociated image and I am unable to unfocus my eyes to let the pattern leap out.
Yes it might be worth for Furqan to write an annotating commentary, to give the sense for the reader about where the journey is..
Itβs a beautful poem but I find context can anchor