I share a poem with you, about me and my son. As always accompanied by a landscape picture which is lodged in my heart as a moment forever.
Sweetness
Month: December 2020
Roses never given
Oh sweet heart
who’s love
carries the curse of
wilted roses.
Too beautiful to be thrown.
Too spent, to be kept.
Too joyous to ignore.
Too heartbroken to be owned.
Infinite
There is a reason why everything happens.
A reason why you are born.
A reason for why you were born on the day you were born.
A reason for the home or street that brings you up.
A reason for your existence.
One for the way you are.
And the unavoidable one for how your life turns out to be.
Every emotion, every thought, every act, every word- spoken or not, is accounted for with a reason not always known to the limited consciousness of our human minds.
Like all these rivulets, we are pooled into nothing but the sea of humanity.
And then all these reasons, at an uncalled vertex of moment, will flood into your awareness of making any sense at all with vague words for explanation.
Why they were always there in the beginning.
And why they will always be there till the end.
Nothing is a coincidence, and yet everything is.
Supernova
Recently, an image uploaded by NASA Hubble’s Instagram page (picture included), inspired me a lot to write a few verses about Supernova, and the delectable idea of comparing these violently exploding stars to illuminaries who burn and fizzle out due to the incredibility of their astounding ingenuity only to borderline into collapsible madness, spurred my imagination to write a few humble verses on this analogy.
Hope you like it, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Love and more,
V
The Forest Sings
In the quiet hours of lassitude, between the waking and rising hours of dawn, the soul of this forest yearns to be clasped in the crush of your old wide palms, a visceral map of all the worlds you have touched and healed.
Skin at every arousable tip stretched tight upon these mountains and hillocks pine for the wetness oozing from the music only your parted hungry lips can sing.
The alluring darkness of her secret alcoves and explored caves awaits to be played upon by your nimble, long, calloused fingers that have caressed the softness of many a lovers’ lips.
The feet of her earth aches to be entwined with your downtrodden ones, to infuse your roots with the vigour only her soil could give, even if you have to trample upon her,
again and again.
And somewhere between the beginning, the middle and the end of her terrain, when you have trespassed all her rocks and marsh and pits and lakes, she lies wide open and awake, to have all of yours in her, in union and unison until eternity.
Letting the glaciers of all your unshed tears, hitherto, melt into the river that would make her deltas fertile, as she gives you life, while you sob into the wake of her earthy bosom, the ravine pit of her forbearing arms, the undying throes of your passion and life.
Luna
I prayed.
A little block of
the burdened sky
dropped down.
And the sun blushed,
In the West End of
my bizarre idea of
Paradise.
Letting be, and
a trickle of
Letting go.
All for me, and
All for mine.
I chased
another bubble of hope,
and threw
another reckless of a wish,
to the brooding
handover of twilight.
Fancying always the
Canny, crescent smile
of an obscured shadow
of the two faced
lunar,
(A full blue moon only to usurp my heart)
Upon the transitioning palette of dreams
of tonight.
And it brought me
to you (once again),
And a song humming in me
all week long.
While the winter’s fire
and the abandoned echo
of a child’s laugh
down the long road home,
crooned away the passing
of this evening,
Walking all the miles in
thoughts between
the hearts of
You and I.
December
Just re-visiting an old favourite poem of mine simply titled, ‘December’. Hope you like 🙂
Little bird.
Are you lost amongst
the thorny brambles
knitting up the clear freezing sky.
Are you hungry?
For the grains, the kind, placid strangers of summer
Once threw your way.
Are you searching for the voice
that you once used for
singing the forlorn ballads of
autumn love that
died along with their leaves.
You know, I am here
Waiting with a basin full
of love and salt, shed
this bygone year.
Soaking in them the
seeds of tomorrow for
a much brighter morning,
a much silent noon,
to plant in the soil
of my little strength.
Don’t leave me a trinket.
It is nothing but another memory of you.
Another memory of you
Owing me something.
You may have heard of this,
But my love knows no debts,
or simple words of gratitude.
Just pay me a visit,
A flutter of your beautiful wings,
And those colourful plumes
to frenzy my ill heart.
For to see your beating bosom,
Throbbing with a million unsung songs to be proud of,
And your eyes meeting a million friends
amongst yours or otherwise,
Bring a thousand rhythms of joy,
to my winter soul and
December thoughts.
wantonink.com 