Tag Archives: contemplative


Rejected ejected dejected ,

hammered battered bashed ,

betrayed denounced renounced ,

traduced evicted contradicted ,

excluded omitted barred ,

banned belittled defeated ,

depleted disparaged ostracised ,

exiled impoverished impeached ,

arraigned detained libelled ,

slandered defamed accused ,

blamed framed ,

convicted ,



Where does time go

when time passes ?

where do tomorrows come from ?

futures remind us of those days

we clung onto fleetingly ,

till they too were replaced

by an ever repetitive Present ;

we knew that it too wouldn’t last ,

for time passes only for time to come again ;

leaving us stranded on the axis of meaning ,

whirring silently in space

like a circle in a spiral ,

our own future far behind us

and our own past to look forward to ,

as time passes.

How far will I go?

How far will I go in letting go

I wish before the sky calls me up

Or before the mother earth takes me in

How far will I go in letting go

I wish before the fire ashen me

Or before the ocean waves gulp me

How far will I go in letting go

I wish before I sacrifice my breaths

Or before the pyre flame my sins

How far will I go letting in go

I wish before I reduce to dust

Or before I return to my abode forever

© Maaya Dev May 2015


Memories fade into memories fade into memories

then fade and are no more ,

each receding tide gives way to

that which is no longer the same ,

whatever it brings is then

the new detritus the salvage of consequence ,

which Forces far too grand too omnipotent

brought into play and made the circumstances

that caged us as their prisoners ;

Long into the night on some distant shore

idiots gaze abroad in what passes in their minds as curiousity ,

all the while dimly aware

even as their last memories fade into memories as before ,

that this ,

that all this doesn’t matter .

While the bud butterflies melt their wings
Within the light red poppy chain,
The pink-gray clouded, sad sunset rings.
In this lost sky, the sun’s light vein
Is almost thrown in a bloody rain.
The leaving sun abandons the sky
For the moon, and in the cricket crawl
The leaves of the oaks whisper ‘good bye’,
While the coming night has a dark shawl.
She looks at the stars with a black eye.
The sun and the stars find synergy,
In the regolith on the moon,
But with helium fusing energy,
This moon looks like a big balloon,
Or like a fragile, silky cocoon.
And like those thoughts enveloped in words,
Or like angels carrying their pure love,
Are the Feathers of the Holy Birds
In that rain dropping the divine globes
On the strong souls needing love rewards.
Any epistemological sphere
Is pouring up to the Holy Book,
Or is falling down to disappear.
The reverse arch gets a killer look.
Tries to provide fragrance of fear.

The fluid, wicked waves draining in sight
On Earth to meet at infinity
Are like the dark rays in the pure light.
Light rays are arches of Trinity,
While dressed in wind seems to be the night.

Stars are candles and night lights them all,
The colors withdraw in the last light.
In the black darkness, they look so small.
The dream seeds germinate for a fight,
Becoming real while breaking their wall.

© copyright Marieta Maglas

A Sephirothic Angel

The sounds made spiky, jagged

angles. They were like deep water

gushed up
through three mouths. The woman
slowly moved her head
from side to side. She lost

her right sight, nor could she

recognize the chasm
around. She tried to dance
her legs while wearing a weary dress. Her
blues partner was
indistinguishable. She appeared
to be in love with him,
but in fact, she needed to feel
changed by
this healing power. She felt

his left hand gently caressing

her breasts

while talking about
her wistfulness as about a solitary stone
in the sea. A Sephirothic Angel having

a white wing
and a black one

approached to help her find
the balance between life and death.
This angel remained behind

the right edge of the window

on her bloodied wall. In the mirror
of time, her white and black face
skin cracked.

Her soul was
old, though still pure
while trying to
crawl out from
its hiding chaos.It was the end

of the summer, and
the arctic terns flew south
to spend their
next future
on a pack ice.

sephiroph angel of darkness

Sleep the sleep

We sleep the sleep of forever

sleep the sleep of here and now ,

and dream the dreams of forever

dream the dreams of here and now ;

When we awake in the here and now

only to dream again the dreams

of forever ,

we slip back into the sleep of forever

to dream again the dreams

of the here and now

where we sleep the sleep


Train Of Thoughts

Train of thoughts

Run across the brain

A thought gets down

And a new one boards

The roads never end

Thoughts are never dead

Without any brakes

The train runs amuck

Brake-less and driver-less

End of this journey

Is the end of life

And the goal of journey

Becomes the goal of life

We all are placed

Where our thoughts place us

A deed is done

First in thought

An achievement is achieved

First in thought

A crime is committed

First in thought

A sin happens

First in thought

A life comes free

When a thought is brought

Hours of Autumn

The hours of Autumn chime
their slow lament ,
dedicated to lachrymose entwined
self-pity and ennui ;
The drumbeat their heartbeat
clockwork automata running out
on rails upon the hour every hour
as if in a scripted trance of
misconception misconstruction
miscellaneously gathered into sheaves
at the harvest of absence in the
greying dawn of an ever greying day ;
Autumn autumn its slow cortege passing
by with mourners staring vacant into
the aperture of a future long since
denied long since betrayed longer since
buried in an unmarked grave surreptitiously
by fate chance providence luck kismet
happenstance coincidence and all the
banal infantilised jejeune explanations
of the Big Certainty ;
that of the hours of Autumn
chiming their slow lament.

The Heart Chirps

Within this body
lies an essence
that resonates:
an essence of new born
in the spring, ever scenting pleasant,
sighting nature
through an infant’s eyes,
fading worries
in the chill wind,
floating fearless
like an untied kite.

I resonate with this essence,
when being alone,
weighing like a first raindrop,
until autumn loneliness
and winter mist
shape the memories of
embarrassments buried
deep inside into
pondering weaknesses.

But I never stop to
weave my verses
to kindle
my inner voice.