Pensive Peony

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Do Peonies reflect the mood of their owners? Maybe yes, maybe not. Clearly this one is a dreamer like me. Missing the season of beautiful peonies, but hey it’s just a phase!

 

Sharing a beautiful verse with you today- an excerpt from ” I Heard God Laughing- Poems of Hope and Joy” Renderings of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky.

 

My Brilliant Image

 

One day the sun admitted,

I am just a shadow.

I wish I could show you

The Infinite Incandescence (Tej)

That has cast my brilliant image!

I wish I could show you,

When you are lonely or in darkness,

The Astonishing Light

Of your own Being!

 

 

Doleful Sunflowers

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Sometimes, just about sometimes, even sunflowers look better in black, white and shades of grey. These colours enhance the depth and melancholy adding a character to the picture. The scene. The mood. Which can be inspiring. Which can be poetic.

I am currently reading Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poetry and I am quite obsessed with sharing her wistful words all around, everywhere I can! So I am not surpassing this chance to share a doleful poem of hers here.

If you’re feeling blue, gray and dark, marinate in it. Breathe and seek for the reason. The lesson. And arise to feel alive again. After all, a film of tear always improves the clarity of your vision.

 

SORROW by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain

Beats upon my heart.

People twist and scream in pain, –

Dawn will find them still again;

This has neither wax nor wane,

Neither stop nor start.

People dress and go to town;

I sit in may chair.

All my thoughts are slow and brown:

Standing up or sitting down

Little matters, or what gown

Or what shoes I wear.

 

 

 

Bliss

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I have always held a lifelong love for flowers and an, if not earlier, but an equal love for poetry.

I have not been upto much as far as my blog is concerned, and I am guilty as charged for not maintaining one regularly, despite paying for my own site.

Life can get monotonous, as we all know, and we all need something exciting to keep us from drowning in this vast ocean.

Truth be told, I am tired of social media, where nothing but rat race and fallacy happens. The sole happiness I get these days is, when I get out into my garden, when the sun decides to bless and shine, breathe in the breeze wafting from the woods, and observe the wildlife in my garden. Every year, I have different wildflowers growing in my garden. This year I was in for a pleasant surprise, when there were bright orange California poppies cheering at me amidst all the lush green.

Nature coupled with words is nothing short of bliss for me. Therefore, I have decided to make my blog all about flowers and poetry, if not mine, somebody’s with due credits. So if you love flowers, and nature photography generally, then welcome aboard to my abode. Hope you will enjoy it as much as I will! 🙂

Banyan Tree

Banyan Tree

Heartless Heaves

Headless bangs

Muscle and bones

Tightly wound together.

Soldier comrades in this battlefield

You and I.

 

 

You shouldn’t fall,

I shouldn’t slip.

 

Like a unit we grew.

An age old banyan tree.

Roots up above,

Like giant exposed nerves.

Holiest shade of all, testament to time.

 

Frail I am,

Fragile you are,

Tears- shed and those not,

Smear the I in the me.

Laminating us into

A cocoon,

A stillborn in vivo.

 

My respite are my words,

Your respite is my bosom,

Thin arms holding a strong strong heart.

I thought I knew you

Nine months ahead of any,

The audacity I chose

A grand jest for many.

 

I watch you slip into slumber

Outside my womb,

This time.

Where I wish I held you forever,

The dark dungeons in me.

My swollen feet carried us miles

While you hibernated inside me, dear child.

All alone, but never lonely,

Fears everywhere, but never scary.

 

We will chart a map to sail together

and draw

Our own blueprint of hope.

For you to see the world,

Mine, being the awe in your eyes

As the sun sets for a new dawn.

 

You are the only one

After all,

Who knows the voice of my heart

From inside.

 

 

For my autistic wonder boy-  Accept. Understand.Love.

Woman

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Woman.

Like an instrument.

Play her right

She is a melody to the ears.

Play her wrong

She is a nuisance to all.

And if you don’t know how to play her

Don’t bother keeping her.

A thing of beauty,

A joy for forever.

Untouched and unowned.

Unaffected and unmaligned.

Lump of Flesh

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Lump of flesh,

Adhered to fabric that connects

And disconnects

Not like the skin, yet second skin.

 

Lump of flesh,

It moves apparently

And sometimes forgets

Like a killing notion, it breathes.

 

Lump of flesh,

Leaping into a pool of love.

And like a cliffhanger orgasm

Left suspended and detached,

Between reality and the alternate

Felt inside.

 

Lump of flesh,

Oh enough with this!

It perceives its joints, juices,

Holes and moles- and realises

It’s a piece meant for pawn

On a dead man’s table.

Sunshine

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I touch not, the skin of God.

Soul of the child my womb bore.

Eyes doorways to heaven,

Laughter orchestrating the universe.

Thoughts, hand in hand, ours,

The heart that learned music from mine.

A thousand times over let me be ill

And deprived.

A thousand times over let me fake a smile or

Take one.

To give you the hope,

To give you a home.

 

 

The Moon

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Hey Miss Moon

Miss Loony, Lonely, Marmy Moon.

You remind me tonight of a woman,

I once knew.

 

Tales of her beauty

Far, they flew.

Such sheen she lay on the sky,

Of a thousand lovers hearts.

 

Someday, one of them got

A little too close,

And all his eyes saw and lips knew

Were your pits and scars,

And dents and blues.

Like a sad hag tossed out of her hut

You sat in your gloom.

 

Maybe that is why you want to be alone.

To shine on your own.

Never to be touched,

Never to be owned.

Only to be gazed and gaped at by

Those who want to hold you,

Their own way.

 

To keep all your belongings

Large and small,

Silver and gray,

From going far and

Astray.

 

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You

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Choose a path

Even when stumbling through

The blinding darkness of a night in the jungle.

 

Choose a path

Even when swimming in

An ocean full of currents.

 

Choose a path

Even when walking through the garden maze

Of friends and families who forget you

In the throes of their celebrations.

 

Choose a path

Even when doubt appears more comfortable

Than your good old friend

Belief.

 

Choose a path

When riding through the dimming haze of a mysterious fog,

Or the furious rage of an uncalled sandstorm.

 

But always choose

That path,

That breaks all these barriers,

To come to You,

And only be Yours.

 

Choose a path

That Becomes Yours,

That Becomes

You.

 

 

Tulips

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The sun shined a brilliant blaze through my

Glass doors today,

Shifting this mind numbing daze built in the column of my living,

With aeons of flying shed dust

That refuse to sediment in the murky waters of time.

 

As if God stood as a guest in guise outside our humble hearth.

Tears of brilliance and reverence in my eyes.

Maybe there is some one I could love

Far and close, near and away.

 

It is winter with no blooms to cheer you

In my withering gardens,Sweetheart.

They are as gray and sullen

As this season after feasts and bygone goodbyes.

As I gave the last of my mirths to

Strangers of blood and not.

But there are songs of robins and sparrows and whatever of them,

Still care to sweeten my

Ember of a soul.

Singing in gratitude of nature and time

And better days to come by

Because ’tis a beautiful one.

Today.

 

Last night I withered through the storms with

A wayward bough hitting the windows and door,

Like a petrified orphan.

And I thought of those obstinate kisses

I once wished for as much as the

Embrace that would not let go off my

Ill, rebel of a being.

Maybe, before I move to a better loved home?

 

For now, I have, however, some rainbow tulips

In a vase waiting for a Lover’s gaze

To unfurl every petal and drench his

Thirst for youth, colour and all that can be used up and ruminated.

Like an abuse you spew out of your mouth in terrible heat

Of your heart.

 

Come if you may, to sit by the fire.

Tell me some stories of yours, ours, what ifs and

Those that can never be heard.

Hold my hand, as fragile as the skin above my veins.

Dont let it go off,

Not even in an absent thought.

Because I can

With all that I have.