Violet Reminders

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Today, I would like to share a few verses written by yours truly, inspired by my walk in the garden. I had planted and lost, and not cared and still won . That is what nature has taught me this year. To be patient. To be resilient. Hope you like what I have written.

 

 

I planted yesterday in my garden

Some hopes and

Purple dahlias.

And today they are sweetly usurped by

Little pale pink dreams I do not know

The name of.

Dainty and wild 

like some of us.

Virgin blush enchanting the naked eye.

 But their love for their mother remains like none.

Because they remember me in the wet lands,

Giving birth to 

Amethyst stillborns.

 

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.

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hand in Hand.

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Do not be afraid of the dark, my love.

 

It is darkness that reveals the elusive light,

Wherever she may be.

It is darkness that hides all the gold and secrets

Of this world, in her chalice of bearing.

It is darkness where the Gods we worship,

Live a life of mystery.

 

It is darkness that makes a human out of a,

Zygote.

It is darkness that makes a tree out of a,

Seed.

It is darkness that makes a saint out of a,

Seeker.

It is darkness that makes a butterfly out of a,

Caterpillar.

It is darkness that makes a spring out of a,

Winter.

 

Maybe the moon, the object of night’s desire

Looks like a mere shadow of the ostentatious sun

Up above, when they meet

To smile at the show below.

But remember,

When the sun seeks water

To set a day,

It is the sea that seeks the moon

To celebrate the night.

 

Do not be afraid of the dark, my love.

Do not be afraid.

 

 

Time

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It is time to say goodbye to another

Time we welcomed with warmth and hope.

By remembering that glorious sunrise.

 

Time that stands testament to games of dice

Between truth and lies.

 

Time that kills us slowly like wine

That ages as patiently as us,

Nestled in her shrine.

 

Time,

You sodden column of death and dust

You hurt us with the old

As much as heal with the hope of something new.

 

Time,

She is that old lover

Who forgives but does not forget.

She chose to leave you

But remembers when you clawed her

Heart out with a mere whisper of another era.

 

All us babies will sing of our unpigmented loyalty to time

Tonight.

“Tomorrow will be better and happier”.

An cuss to her ears.

 

Well who am I not to abide,

I am as much a sinner as the other one beside.

So remember it like a gentle sad sigh.

Tomorrow is your friend

If you know she can be your foe

In fleeting beats hereby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Divine Retribution

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What is ignorance

But another face of arrogance,

Wisely chosen to believe in

Bliss.

By her.

 

Cantankerous cackles of a misfit

Over air borne signals,

To the only blood minimally worthy

Of trustworthy.

 

Of pompous cries of valour in the battlefield, she spoke,

If the arrow of extra meat ever found her.

Her tired jowl and

Always sad scowl sighed,

She could endure

The poison her lover drank

And walk the darkness through blindness with

No sticks and pities required.

 

Will she be forgiven by the deities

Of her tribe?

Will she be laughed at by the children

Of tomorrow

With tales of jibe?

Forsaken by waves of mirthless merriment

Across the room,

She ruminates of all the galaxies to feast on

Had she loved a little more.

 

Will she have peace

In her silent thoughts

Of absolutely silent nothings.

Haunted by a heartburn of undigested concoctions

Of loss,remorse and musings now

So morose.

 

For life is a cycle of moments,

More so gray when living through them

But evermore greener when looking at them,

Had she held a palette of colours and a paintbrush of wit,

To imbue yellow into the stones of blue

And stroke a right red

As the mightiest of hues.

 

 

The Little Brown Leaf

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She washed ashore

This little brown leaf,

Laying in a pool of

Sad salt water,

Looking up at me

Like an abandoned child.

 

She must have heard a million tales

From lands unknown, from winds afar.

Singing to her,

Were the shells thrown out

By the princesses

Who had treasures everyday anew

Galore and galore.

 

She must have seen

Sailors and prisoners,

Witches and their crafts,

Lonely men in their towers and

Women recuperating from love,

Who cried and thought they ruled

Their own lairs.

Ah, mankind!

 

Crackling nights deceptive of dawn

Bright in the middle of

Nowhere,

Nothing to dine,

Only to drink

Brine and breathe in,

The vacuum air of

Another sunrise.

 

Plankton,

Sweet child of mine,

Of another era.

Another kingdom, another sphere,

Who wrung  you

Off the green I hoped you were once,

Was it the harsh cold waters of

God’s own making?

Or dry currents that free will

Desired when smitten by

Glory?

 

I hope you make my red toe nails and

Hobbit feet

Your refuge.

Maybe I could give you a name

And you could tell me all your dreams,

And other forgotten stories of

Fame.

 

I will never let you out

Into the sea,

That mass of unknown

Again.

You frail and fragile body

With no fragments known to

Fate.