A Story

Story of the tiny flame

Is over-

It’s an untimely demise-

No one knows if she was steady

Or wavering

In the face of the insolent, hungry wind-

I don’t believe she gave in

Without the slightest stir-

Everything looks so calm and tranquil

As if nothing had happened-

Posted for Sunday Muse #195 hosted by Carrie

Glasses

Glass world

Hangs precariously

On time’s twig

In the sun, in rains, in snow-

We are aware-

Yet

We never miss

A dance-chance

With our aura of brokenness-

Posted for Sunday Muse #194 hosted by Carrie

Muse

Word is darkness

Figures devouring each other

Love delights in break up

And becomes a poem

Poem is light

Images lapping up images

Thoughts delight in birth

And becomes a word

Posted for Carrie’s picture prompt @ The Sunday Muse #175

“Sound is sea: pattern lapping pattern… Matter delights in music, and became Bach,” the poet Ronald Johnson wrote as he contemplated matter, music and the mind. The given picture prompt and Ronald Johnson’s words triggered my poem today.

Wings

It’s always good

to exist-

to breathe-

even when Life

dances in the rhythm

of black and white-

the wild woman

never forgets

her wings-

Posted for Sunday Muse #153 hosted by Carrie

Fall

• 

I had a great fall

down those autumn eyes

and withered-

Posted for Sunday Muse #152 hosted by Shay

My Foxtrot Words

My foxtrot-words

in a fitful frenzy leaped

into a frosty dizziness-

they would have been there

sans hues of life forever

had they not fallen

on the lap

of daffodil memories-

I feel them there gestating-

here I am marking time

for their ‘fractal flight’ home**-

• 

** art print of Maria Popova

Posted for Sunday Muse #151 hosted by Carrie

Protest

 

I am shut up

in a room of fear-

I sit with a muted howl-

should I choose

a deadly cyclone

to be the soul

of my words-

or should I be the silent witness

and watch

how this fake human world

glass-breaks on its own-

 

 

Posted for earthweal weekly challenge : PROTEST IN A TIME OF PANDEMIC hosted by Sherry

Love Was Our Home Once

SOURCE

 

Neither you nor I can escape

this nightmare of sinking love-

haven’t our moon words turned

charcoal-gray long ago?

we had grown crevices in them

with faithful self-love without the least

thought of the solace of light-

dreams that once were, are now

headstones of hills-

we are no more homesick-

it’s time to

rest in peace-

 

 

Posted for Carrie’s picture prompt @ Sunday Muse #94

Spring

In between glum sky

And dewy eyed, listless Earth

My tulip dreams spread-

Grief is the shadowy hill

The sole silent onlooker-

 

 

 

[This poem is from a 2016 list]

Posted for earthweal open link weekend #6

The Ganges

 

(A Death Is Needed For A Renewal)

 

 

Seeing you this much mutilated

I can no more contain my sorrow-

it spreads as would a wildfire

riding a wind of its own-

the haunting voices of all

that is green, feathered, scaled

beside or within you

sing the apocalypse-

monal river,

you let your turquoise water feathers

to be ashen sewers,

though it’s a story of salty boundlessness in the end-

I am now convinced

you were always a woman

with the heart of Manikarnika,

treading the path to be a phoenix-

 

 

 

Posted for earthweal weekly challenge : RENEWAL