poetic vacuum

yellowed thread of that green balloon
entangles your pauses,
you find vacuum in my knees-
the gap between my feet and ground,
you fill it with sensual poetry.

face on the wall

Street art by Rone

in the smoky streets
I watch the pace of time
which changes every moment
afternoons are the best
when I get to doze off
you see my face on that wall
speculating about my projected image
volley of your thoughts don't bother me
I might not be identical to my image
but I thrive in my duality

"even without wires, 
I am illuminated in dark nights"

mortal thoughts

this mausoleum built of pristine stone
I don't need it to shroud my rotting bone

nor do I wish for pyramids as a shrine
which too will crumble to dust with time

spread me on the earth, let me scatter away
let me grow under your feet night and day

soil thrives forever, so does the sky
those so called unliving truly never die

"why then our mortal body wishes for eternity?"



Picture Courtsey: Ashish Gorde of Eureka Express

Someday

Posting this from my archives, which I wrote way back in in 2005. Here I have tried internal rhyming along with end-rhymes. This is the only poem where I attempted internal rhyming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Photo Credits: Rick Mobbs






















I only want to know,
to dream
how your caress would feel
so dizzy for contact,
making me reel.
unsure how to act,
not good at this game anymore.
but
sure that your love
will seep through my pores
and
expose my soul,
where
now in secret
grows a weedy garden
of needy wasteland.
where
angst and pain
flows like rain
through the dream-cluttered
gutters of my brain.
my mind
screams a silent
refrain of mistakes.
and in
my dreams,
all that I yearn
seems so far away,
on the highest summit,
out of reach.
but
for now
I have to teach
myself to wait,
willing fate to
deliver one day.

trying to find a meaning

anger taking me over
I stomp my feet in the mud
where my sandals come off
getting stuck in the muck
barely conscious, I walk barefoot
with an ashen face and
trip on the faulty road
which saves me from getting hit
by an unknown vehicle travelling
at a high speed from the wrong side

unlinear yet in a line,
unmarked dreams ascend
then stop for no apparent reason
suddenly waking up, I sit down
scared to my wits, yet unharmed
for a while I stare at the wall
comprehending nothing

in someway, somewhere in that dream
you can designate a semblance of order



Picture credits: Rick Mobbs

This came out of a dream I had today while taking an afternoon siesta. . Maybe it was a nightmare, I don't know. It was all disjointed. I wrote what I remembered giving it some sort of order. I don't know what to make of it. I mean the interpretation part, not the poetry one. Can anyone? This is another rough draft. I will work on it later.

weed it out-----half a poem

Photo Credits: Rick Mobbs

in the skeletons of my memories
only dry bones are left
yet I remember the putrid flesh
smell of death sits there
face to face with me
I howl rather loudly
as if my innards pour out

"is it not what dogs do?"

numbness setting within
how do I differentiate
between real from the illusion
I have lived too long
in a world of my own
cosseted and loved only by me
where I brushed aside the weeds

"I still get on with my howling."



It feels good to get back into poetry mode, although a dark one. Hopefully my world should right itself in no time. I suppose I am still a long way from finding myself. Maybe never.

out of nowhere

Photo credits: Rick Mobbs
















looking overhead at the sky
you jauntily trudge along the lane
joy spilling over unable to be contained
you just live in the moment
basking in the shade of sun-kissed trees

in that madness of happiness
you start thinking you have now taken
control of your life, to live it the way
you always wished it and wanted it
although never verbalized it

out of nowhere spectre of your past
catches up with you
dashing your desires into ground
and you are left with nothing
not even hope, to hold on to

"simply rest your head on the cold earth
and let it take you wherever it wants to"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am back with this. My words are not dead. Problem is too much of those. Sometimes we cannot verbalize what is really happening. When we do we reveal so much of ourselves. I don't wish for that. I thank my friends for standing by me, encouraging me. I needed your love. I truly did. Does it matter that I never met you? Is it any wonder that I love my blogger friends?!

I will write. I can't stay away from it for long. It is like breathing.

tears trickle slowly

tears trickle slowly
down the cheeks
when I raise my fingers
to wipe those away
I find not a single drop

clogging the throat
all the more potent
for being unshed

least they could do
to fall in torrents
cleansing the debris
washing away
my inner torment







Photo: Rick Mobbs

defining boundaries

Photo Credits: Rick Mobbs











space
aura surrounding me
unseen but built like a wall
intangibility of it pervades you too
you can break bricks
however
how does one demolish something
which is invisible
you can't define the boundaries
yet one can let the other break it
allowing to enter it with own free will

"can any one predict where
chance might lead this encounter?"

picking up the ladle, I smile at you------Sunday Scribblings

Photo: Rick Mobb














pouring the washing liquid into basin
I scour the vessels vigorously
as if my life depended on it
if only you knew how much truth
I hold within me
but you can't
you never could
now it is totally wrong on my part
to expect it from you
that obssessive part of me still wishes
for impossible things
picking up that ladle
I smile at you
your vision still so clear
even though you are gone
(well, I must agree, you do taste good)
pouring more washing liquid into basin
I again scour the vessels vigorously
to wipe your blood along with your bones

clouds percolate from the sun

Photo: Rick Mobbs















somehow my swimming senses
make me perceive as if
clouds percolate from the sun
I fly out stealthily
all the while entangled with you
my astral body steals a kiss from it
desiring to share it with you.
you pick up my movements;
eagerly reaching out for me
your hands flutter to hold me close.
I can see you flowering
right in front of my still closed eyes

with the lightest of your touch
I sway with feelings
and burn up to cinders;
my last thoughts, before
I completely disintegrate

"you achieved what the sun could not"

yearning

Another rough draft. I am into writing love poetry. Which is a rarity for me. I truly can't write mushy stuff. * I am continully editing it. I will keep on doing so until I get it right.


I taste the salt with the flick of my tongue
familiar taste, yet unknown
when my arms encircle you
my senses awaken from stupor
responding to the inherent aroma that is you
when you pull me closer
I decidedly plunge myself into you
sensing an echoing flush
slowly I let my tears fall
and find them intermingled with yours

"transiently permanent, our welded souls"

Photo credit: Rick Mobbs. Click on the picture to find out more.

Vortex of Pleasure

Posting this too for Sunday Scribblings' Deepest, darkest. This is another version of the same photo, I had put up in the previous post, Stranger in the Mirror. Here I put up smaller version of the picture for easy recall.

Vortex of Pleasure

in the deep recesses
of my psyche-
my ecstasy is
bursting forth;
dispelling darkness,
welcoming light.

with an inner smile;
hiding the joy
for the time being’
I relish bliss
selfishly,
averse to share

as of now………

...................................................

Another take on Deepest, darkest on Sunday Scribblings..

Stranger in the Mirror-----Sunday Scribblings

Posting this for Sunday Scribblings prompt Deepest, darkest. I had some kind of verses formed in my mind looking at this picture on google images. Infact I wrote two entirely different versions. Those suit rather well for the topic. One I post today, other I might post on Sunday. Though I saved the picture, I forgot the source.

Photo Source: Internet

Stranger in the Mirror

deepest
darkest secrets
unknown even to her;
dwells in her mind
scaring her.

this side of herself,
she was unaware.
at times,
her inner demons
slaying her.

smiling under
this scary mask;
a total stranger
stares back from
the mirror.

reluctant to
reveal the
pain within;
she holds on
head held high.

accepting herself
the way she is;
with blemishes,
imperfections
will she find peace?
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Look out more darkest deepest secrets...

Meditating for being one with you-----Poetry Thursday

As for last this time too it was on ecphrasis poetry but in a different way, that is, to try stepping inside a work of art and writing from that perspective as mentioned here. I had done that way in my last post Soul. So here I take the slant in a different way. I have always liked Salvador Dali. Hence I take the following painting and write this. The painting has other interpretations which can be read here. I did not want to elaborate on that. Hence I take it differently. This is not quite poetry but a conversation between two lovers who are in commune with each other. Who is saying all this to whom can be interpreted either way.

Meditation on the Harp by Salvador Dali

(1932-34 67 x 47 cm)

Meditating for being one with you

You have given me all of you,
not keeping anything for yourself.
Trusting me enough to bare it all.
Your vulnerability was always
known to me somehow,
even without your saying so.
You have done much more.

You have opened yourself to me,
a very big responsibility
to care for, to nurture.
I am not one to let you down,
I will retain this part of you safe
within me. The same way
I expect you to keep me
safe within you.

You somehow complete me;
fulfilling that part, the vacuum
which I wasn’t aware, existed.
I was in a slumber,
you woke me up
crashing my defenses with your love.
With you I can be me-
nothing else matters anymore.

The great master
painted us the way we are
in the recesses of our minds;
the harp playing for us
for eternity….

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Read more images poetry here .

Chalk Chronicles......Sunday Scibblings

The writing prompt Chronicles by Sunday Scribblings was not easy by any standards. I kept thinking for three days but I am not satisfied with what I came up with. Still I decided to post.

Friday….

Read about the Sunday scribbling writing prompt. To chronicle. Thinking about it.

Saturday....

Still no idea. Mind is closed up.

Sunday morning....

Still blank. Staring at the screen. Something forms.

One day in the life of a chalk…

After the assembly
I can hear her footsteps.
In anticipation
I await for her to
pick me up.

Again I am left out;
my friends get picked.
I watch her fingers moving
with fast pace
on the blackboard.

Pausing here,
explaining there;
depicting formulae
of sums unknown
to me or them.

Finally I get my wish
but how! Feeling
a slimy hand crushing
me to splinters,
powdered to dust.

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For more on the topic read all the posts listed here. Enjoy!