of those streets — untrodden and unknown — white
blossoms hanging in shame — i tie my knots
to a sun-bedazzled horizon — rites
of passage — grey streets, umpteenth times, (un)sought:
from the beachfront to a temple’s tempest,
there is music in every step — stone-dreams
of our bodies, long dead and alive, blessed
by the lilting lights of a silent scream.
of motorcades and urine stains — these walls
reek of years and litters that have inhaled
the bequest left by the bay’s sunken souls —
plastic pools, sodium sands, holy grails:
where all did i wander through this caffeine-
daze?— not all trees that stand are evergreen.
.
© Anmol Arora
Linking it up with dVerse, where i am hosting the Poetics prompt this week. The theme is: On Wandering & Observing
HA's Place 
This was a walk into the unknown for us both, Anmol – I had no idea where you were taking me. I want to know why the white blossoms hang in shame. From the beachfront to the temple’s tempest seemed promising, with the ‘music in every step’, but the silent scream is ominous, and you then take me to a less salubrious place. It seems to be a part of town one doesn’t want to go but is compelled to in some way. Intriguing.
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Like Kim I really reacted to the blossoms hanging in shame, it contrasted with the gentle beginning… then you took us through the underbelly of the town… scented and stained… and with the closing couplet… giving a hint of bare trees somewhere in the future… love that you did it in the form of a sonnet.
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I also liked the sonnet form. The white blossoms hanging in shame? Forgive me if I am wrong but I couldn’t help but read a racial quality to that. Don’t want to stir up something that isn’t there, but I am curious.
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Your poem seems like part reality and part dream as I get to the end, both pleasant and unpleasant recollections.
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Why is it that foreign places always smell of urine and exotic flowers?
By the way, were you aware that there is an ad right in the middle of your poem? It breaks it in half. There are a couple at the end too, but the one in the middle is outrageous! I’ll report it if you like.
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Hey Jane, WordPress does tend to place ads at the end of the post — one in the middle is surprising and it must be very offputting too. I changed the default Ad settings. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be a hindrance again.
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The way it appeared and disappeared made me think it was a sort of pirate ad.
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I write a comment and the ad disappears!
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This is so haunting Anmol. It leaves me with an uneasy feeling. So well done.
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The ad angered me too, as if technology arrogantly placed itself into your fine poem, jarring the senses of the reader. I had a vibe of the Ganges and somewhere in India; somewhere sordid and exotic. I liked the line /that have inhaled the bequest left by the bay’s sunken souls/. A great illustration for your prompt.
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” not all trees that stand are evergreen.”
Indeed, Ammol in the travel leaflets, yes but in the real walk not everything in modern day cities are pretty
Thanks for a very insightful prompt
Happy you dropped by to read mine
Much🚶♂️🚶♀️💙love
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That was a mysterious saunter Anmol, and I enjoyed it greatly! I have had my website built on a WordPress platform for iver a decade, but I don’t have it hosted it on WordPress. I own and pay for my domain name annually, and I host it on Bluehost, psyong 15.00/month. The beauty of all that is I never get those obnoxious ads showing up and I have a massive memory trove, so I have thousands of poems and hi-rez color images in storage, with still virtually unlimited room for more.
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Such a captivating close to this one, Anmol! I love the intensity with which this poem is penned especially; “stone-dreams of our bodies, long dead and alive,” and oh “these walls reek of years and litters,” I feel every place possesses its own share of highs and lows. 🙂
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One advantage of being late to the party is that glitches can be ironed out. I saw no ad, so whatever whoever did obviously worked
I kind of recognise this place, or this feeling. You are great at conjuring up an atmosphere. This is my stand-out stanza:
of motorcades and urine stains — these walls
reek of years and litters that have inhaled
the bequest left by the bay’s sunken souls —
plastic pools, sodium sands, holy grails:
raw, and grubby, but with that sudden flash of dreaming at the end in the holy grail.
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yes you have woven an intriguing wander around any part of india … “i tie my knots
to a sun-bedazzled horizon” resonated with me …
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This is an intriguing walk through a city–and I like that it’s not named, so it could be anywhere. There is history in the city, and there is the poet’s own history. I have a feeling of walking with the poet revisiting the sites of youthful indiscretions, perhaps that is shame and the trees that are not evergreen?
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It feels like a merging of different times and places, all those knots of memories that can’t be untangled and defined. (K)
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I love the rhythmic intensity, and the mysterious sense of deja vu and forboding, that you convey in this one! Great write!
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I feel the richness of place and history. Love the final line and the placement of stone. A long walk or time marches on?
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