PHOTO: RUPAK ROY
There are no suns, moons or stars in you-
neither the ocean, no sky nor even a firefly
ever made any presence about your being,
yet I hear your silent steps in my heart.
Your lips are the exotic trees with rare blossoms-
that unfurl their petals not in profusion
to drown me in colors or perfume,
yet I feel their soft touch in my core.
You are no flower but a hardened rock-
that rose above brine water of the eyes
of my broken self in a broken world.
You rise as did our Himalayas-
with the warm heart in layers of snow
while I am a pebble of prayer.
Posted for dVerse MTB ~ Neruda and the free sonnet hosted by Bjorn Rudberg
Shared with Poetry Pantry #367 @ Poets United
Flood is: always,
Not to my liking.
Let me be calm,
be at peace with me.
I pray for placid, deep water
always half inch
below the edge.
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Flood @ Poets United
My dreams are not
but rather a bit Dadaistic
of cut up imagined memory
by an inner ‘I’-
making me ride a hobby horse
from one cube of darkness
in false reality.
Posted for dVerse Quadrille #38 ~ Dream hosted by De
The flowers of dreamscape
Crossed over to the real world
To be in my tub
Once I saw
Gossamer, scented wings
Of night flowers
Tied up with a silk string
In a bouquet
The peony headstone spray
Posted for Poetry Pantry #366 @ Poets United
I never knew I was so fragile
that I’d be reduced to pieces
like a china cup
at one knock.
Neither did I know
those living close to my heart
were all Kintsugi artists.
They lovingly collected
all the shards, that was my soul
and mended with words of gold.
Now I’m a Kintsugi vase,
broken yet whole.
Posted for Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Kintsugi: Art of mending
She was lust fodder.
So she had to be sold and cooked
in dark flames of lecherous greed.
Yet she couldn’t be consumed
for she’s to be an undying candle flame
flinging away night around her.
Here is a LINK, the source of my poem
Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Human Trafficking @ Poets United
Words glide down,
to the end of fingertips
to begin their dance-
of sunrise and twilight
void and darkness
and of a blood red dawn.
**Cherita is a poetic form [1-2-3] of three stanzas telling a story. The first one has one line the second, two and the final stanza has three lines. Cherita is a Malay word for story/tale. This form was created by al li
Posted for dVerse Poetics ~ The End hosted by Paul Scribbles
I find a sanctuary in your smile-
that’s rose-soft with latitude
and rock hard too-
where I keep my nest of dreams-
my frail and brittle soul,
secure and safe.
Posted for my Midweek Motif ~ Finding A Sanctuary @ Poets united
The moist road under my feet sings
while the glossy grass
carefully hold their dots of blooms
against the naughty wind in their playful mood.
This bonny morning
pulls me into
its enormous foyer of exuberance;
where trees enjoy monsoon manna
and give a shake to their roots
to go deeper,
where merry brooks
weave their delight into babbling tune
just as the moist road under my feet sings,
telling me to move on.
But my heart chooses
to be a megalith of grief.
Posted for dVerse Poetics: Flexing your verbs hosted by Kim of writinginnorthnorfolk.com
Mount Neelkantha in the Himalayan Range
Burnt orange is slowly changing into a dazzling white while I remain hidden mesmerized in the dark shade that the Himalayas offer me. Tourists abound here, clicking and letting out soft sound of wonderment. I am not a tourist now. I am a pilgrim. The Indians, the Hindus mainly have tendencies to build temples and worship in such lofty places and pilgrims flow like the Ganges or the Alakananda towards them.
Before visiting the temple I also let out my soft prayer to the Almighty to let the mountain survive, thrive with the flora and fauna that it used to have those days when pilgrims trudged miles after miles without the least care for their comfort, risking their life and were blessed by the generosity of the Himalayas for you don’t know when suddenly a pristine fountain would pop up and quench your thirst and fruit laden trees would feed you so that your dry food stock would not exhaust fast. I also prayed that it might be saved from unscrupulous visitors making it a perfect litter bin. But who is listening?
A yellow beaked crow
Takes lone flight to winter sky
Like a pilgrim’s sigh
Posted for Haibun Monday – Free For All @ dVerse hosted by Hayesspencer
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United