Roses never given

Image and poem copyright Vibina Narayan

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

Image Šī¸ Vibina Narayan

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

Image and poem copyright Vibina Narayan (IG: @soulofscheherazade)

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

Poetry by Vibina Narayan @soulofscheherazade. Image by Shweta Kallianpurkar @a_tad_askew

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 🙂

Image and poem copyright Vibina Narayan

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.