The most beautiful
Feelings and thoughts
Come to us
The last days
Of our lives.
How can you
see me not; blooming
far off the mountain ranges
Taking a golden smile
into your heart
How can you
feel me not; swaying
far off the moorland
Taking a cool breeze
by your slender branches
How can you
remember me not; shedding
the last fall
of my benevolent tears
Beyond the muted graveyards
How can you
dream me not; drifting
amongst the hoary clouds
Taking a wink of my gesture
Upper than the whirling skies
when silence is too deep to echo a sigh
…into the air in search of another heart
…into heaven to touch another soul…
to hear a thousand of unspoken words from within
…the tears and the wailings of the living
…the haunting sorrows of yesterday and today
when the roaring thunder never exist
…the joys and fulfillment of your longings
…the laughter and smiles from your lips
to anticipate the coming oblivion in phases of time
…in the infinity of your dreams
..in the mortal self, finding the divine glory
when silence stands in the stillness of your world
…the callings of haven in the lightness
…the spark to kindle a little brightness
to find the bridging rainbows of now to forever
…in the promises creating hope and faith
…in the deliverance of your… whisperings …
Sept 14. 2019
in acrylic painting on canvas by suzette portes san jose
The sun slithers behind the horizon
Dimming the light the night arrives .
In this darkness she raises her head
Robed luridly, her hood she spreads
Brandishing seductive glances ,
Swashes spreading her trance .
Veiling her rancor, forges smile.
Predicaments, so what , turn her vile .
Driven by perpetuating plight
Trades her days with the night.
Willingly places her self on pyre
To become the vestige of carnal desire
Of saints in respected raiment
Profoundly proud of their payments.
Their life, veritably , bereft of flavour
Feign to bestow upon her a favour.
Shrieks her soul, in colossal pain ,
Consensually ravaged for meager gain.
Yet she solely pays the price.
For her sun sets with every sunrise
Primordial patriarchy leaves him untarnished
By blinded milieu she is vehemently banished.
@ Bilquis Fatima
just as the moon shall serenade the night
the warmth that touches your skin from its light
as it brings your heart such wonders of thought
on darkened waters, a reflecting beauty sought
the rhythm of the song that forever lingers
so sweet-sounding in everyone’s ears
singing a tune in every beat of the heart
till every minute ending, tossing time to start
from the whirling wind of the murmuring waters
hear them like a lurking song of soft whispers
drowning you into the depth of your soul
existing in your fantasy, dreams, passion, and goal
under the moonlight shall cast a shadow
the story of a legacy be told by tomorrow
till then… shall be the telltale of your glory
with the moonlight serenading, starry…starry…
(if i finish the line i will lose the rhyme, so, I’d rather request someone to sing the song starry starry nigjht…
in acrylic on canvas by suzette portes san jose
What do we see when
we see what others saw?
what do we hear when
we listen to what others heard?
what do we know when
we know what others learned?
what do words mean when
we speak those words spoken
before by others?
Should we somehow exchange places,
and in that exchange
as they become us,
and looking back
at our former selves
we no longer recognise
who we are?
SOMETHING I LOOK AT-54
BY-SMRUTI RANJAN MOHANTY
Never is the woman a burden
who carried you all along.
Never can she be a burden who put
you on her shoulder to show you the skyline.
Never she is a liability who lived her whole
life for you and inculcated in you
the drive to look at the moon.
Don’t kill her when she is still alive
If you tore her heart into pieces
each piece will have your name inscribed.
if you bring tears to her eyes
each drop will reflect you and tell
different stories, each more vivid and poignant than the other.
It is she incarnate in you
Peep into her heart
it is you who reign there.
Don’t break it
you will only break yourself
don’t put fire in that beautiful garden
you will only burn yourself.
Look at her eyes which only see you
listen to her heart that only beats for you, she is flowing in your every artery and vein, her whole being is you.
Look at her
the poetry of love and dedication
only needs a bit of it
to carry her a little further.
Don’t think she is a burden, she is your first and last line of defence, always with you forever.
Make her life cup full
you will get the ocean in return.
A leaf came rustling down the earth
Whispering soft by the evening breeze
Taking all the stories of its last fall
From the verdant branches of a chirping tree
Slowly and slowly the long eastern light
Started settling down the dusky west
And the night came unveiling its granite face
Sporting ignis fatuus of the hooting nights
Many occasions pressed shoveling the dark
With the tenacity of the burning heart
Tiny creatures peeped teeming with bright eyes
Yet, I could not find the mistaken identity of my solitary leaf
Short of words to explain the man he was,
my teacher and father late Raj kishore Mohanty
Happy and contented he was.
No looking back, no regrets
for what he had not done,
what he had not accomplished,
no wishes except a desire
for a calm and peaceful end
to his serene and beautiful life.
No complaint against life.
Nothing against anyone
A life surrendered at the feet of his guru,
a life lived for his students,
for their wellbeing and betterment.
He loved his students,
loved going miles on his bicycle
to see his students smile, to solve
their problems, to be with them
when they are in need.
Never ran after any other identity.
A teacher he was, a born teacher
that was the only identity he had.
For him there was hardly any difference
between his own kids and
the students he took care.
A son had to elevate himself to
the level of a student to know
what his father actually was.
For him veda is mathematics
and mathematics is veda
life is death in motion
and death is life in motion
and one can live and enjoy both
if one has the will to do so.
Till the very end
lived life to the full,
spreading the messages of his guru,
working for the triumph of humanity,
inspiring others to live and let live .
Enjoyed his death while in sleep,
passed to the other side of consciousness
with head high and a smile on lips,
proving his own saying,
one can enjoy death the way
one enjoys life
if the surrender is complete.
Time and tide wait for no man.
Now in the late summer of life,
Realised it was all just strife.
What a donkey’s life!
Time flies, like the wind gone,
And I did what was to be done.
Not what I needed to do,
Without much ado.
My passion for writing with little outlet,
Hung on to time yet I bet,
Busy with mundane life,
Keeping at bay unexpected strife.
And today I crave for time’s arrears.
My heart’s wish over the years,
To revive those wishes dormant
To catch on those years
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