Letter To A Poet: A Medley of Cinquains

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nudging

me in my dreams,

rapier of your words,

penetrating deep, would not let

me sleep,

.

the sounds

of your verses,

playing a symphony

in cavern of my ears, won’t let

me sleep,

.

cadence

and treasured rhymes

make me smile at odd times,

entrancing my soul, would not let

me sleep,

.

your voice

that I could hear

in the deep crevices

welled up in my heart, would not let

me sleep,

.

 thy love

you are pouring

in the fragrant garland

that enfolds your poem, won’t let

me sleep,

.

you are

an artist who

spots a new vivid world

in normal surroundings, please let

me sleep,

.

aura

of creations,

that which resides in you

breaches my every shield, won’t let

me sleep,

.

open

my weak eyelids

in search of you so as

to read you within, giving up

my sleep,

.

letter

to my kindred

who nurses a poem

like a small child who does not let

them sleep,

.

no need

of rest when we

can stay awake whole night

etching ourselves in words, letting

off sleep

.

* First of all, this is a medley of Cinquains which I have used to create an Epistolary Poem. It was quite a fun task.

** I am submitting the link for dVerse Poetics where we have been called to write a letter through a poem.

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See/Look

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see,

look

within

my brown eyes,

you will be dazzled

and I will bear your weight because

as dark as I am, that is something I always do,

.

as dark as I am, that is something I always do,

you can judge me if you desire,

spurt me with wise words,

but look, see

within

these

eyes,

.

you

will

find my

lost shadow

and you will see me

as I am without my white mask

and my scars will be on display just for you to view,

.

all my scars will be on display just for you to view,

the blotted marks of a known truth-

life is hard to live,

grasp this fact

once you

see

me.

.

* Mine are brown but rather hollow; they don’t say anything. They remain mum.

** Fibonacci poetry (which I liked a lot once) for dVerse Form For All.

Cowboy Dream

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I saw a cowboy in my dream last night,

robust, well postured with a snarl on his face

who hid his identity behind his hat for the most part,

but looked at me again and again sideways,

appraising me, calculating his notions about me,

and then he started to walk, step by step,

the voice of the crumbling mountain,

just before me he stood and punched me in the gut,

oh ah ah ah…. aha… ah… another punch and yet another,

until I lay lying on the ground clutching my tender stomach,

and the next sound I heard was that of a gun shot,

and I froze, as if the bullet would come piercing,

through my skin and muscles and tendons and attack the bone,

and may be create a gaping binocular hole,

finding its way back to the desert sun,

but I never felt anything, not pain, not numbness,

I made myself get up and saw blood spilled at a distance,

before my very eyes, I saw a stream of crimson flowing blood,

and the cowboy with his gun vertical breathing smoke,

he stifled a laugh as I touched his shoulder,

he was nothing but a hologram,

I flinched away from the distorted image,

and made my eyes gaze back worriedly at the fluid,

to find there was nothing at all there,

and just then, heard a voice up above me,

everything transformed, blue sky turned to lilac,

and the sun was no longer there but I saw three suns,

I shot up above with my revolver without any thought,

(where did I get the revolver? why did I shoot, what had happened?),

dream broke up like a dam and there was a tide of desert sand,

I pulled my shirt up to cover my eyes,

and crouched there to keep stable,

I never woke up for I knew it was something happening really,

but then it was way too fantastical,

soon the storm did pass and I looked up,

at the act that was performed before me,

that I was a significant part of,

hiding my identity behind my hat,

I stood robust, well postured,

a snarl was persistent on my face,

what I saw was a boy in tatters,

standing a few feet ahead looking at me strangely,

something urged me to walk towards him,

I did, appraising him, calculating my notions about him,

my hand rose up on its own accord as I stood before him,

and then a punch, another one, ah… uh… oho…,

punched him in the gut again and yet again,

he fell down in pain and I shot a bullet blindly,

clouds had distorted my vision,

another shift, another transformation,

I had become the cowboy

and nothing happened next,

there was light and I tumbled through it,

out of the world that seemed so real to me,

and I found myself rubbing my eyes,

saying only a single thing-

‘I am the cowboy:

 I was always the cowboy

of the ranch of my life,

of my sight, my mind’

.

* I barely know anything about cowboys. I have never been interested in the movies or books based on them. The little I know is because of the snippets of information I got from here and there. I have created an image of cowboy, molding the idea into something I could easily relate with or write about and most of all, create through my imagination. I guess it could be used as a cowboy poem around the bonfire (I am kidding). I am submitting the link for dVerse Poetics. dVerse Poets Pub is a wonderful community of poets from all around the world who come forth to share their creations for the various prompts related to poetic forms and styles posted throughout the week.

A Visit to the Spare Room

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that day a while ago,

that day eons ago,

I went up there to the spare room,

it wasn’t bare

but just unlived,

left alone in its solitude

with grungy furniture-

an aged bed with dusty mattress that squeaked,

a couch of horrid colors,

small fridge empty but for a pungent smell;

.

I open up the wooden gate

of the wall almirah,

a portal through time,

swept away from that moment

to days past-

there I found the books that

were read by my mother

in her college days,

I picked up one of them-

hardcover,

opened the first leaf and

began to contemplate over,

those old brown pages;

typical for me,

a little complicated for me-

the language I am bonded with for life

but not being so in contact with,

I read through the first page

and then the second-

tells of a story of a widow,

miserable, lonely,

with no sense of direction but

the only thing in mind, to be of service

to her late husband’s memories,

a drama, first act-

she lost in sweeping the floor

but mind thinking of so many things,

when she is asked for her hand

to be yellowed again and her brow line

be smeared with sacred red powder,

a marriage proposal from her brother-in-law;

a little too sappy for me,

I closed it and replaced it at its abode-

that stack of other books, its comrades,

now that the war is over,

bereft of any duty but that of

making us realize of their presence

from time to time;

.

I sat on the old worn out bed sheet

and thought of visiting old acquaintances-

I opened up the furtive bed-chamber

to find all those childish play things,

same as always, fragrant of ignorance,

I dare not touch them, they would come alive,

I fear them, looked at them with dewy eyes;

.

too much for one day, I thought

and retreated back

to the modern coercion,

plugging back to what life is

like on the ground floor,

leaving behind that room

which floats in thin air,

ever ready to fall down.

.

* It was a bad time for me, when I tried to shy away from the world by visiting that room and it was after quite a while that I did so. It was different. Now, I am sort of an irregular visitor there. In the last month, I once went there to read and another time to write. The room beckons me; it is magical for me. It is symbolic for me. I am submitting the link for dVerse Poetics.

Walk, I went for…

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spectacles balanced up on the nose

obscuring those dark brown eyes,

visage wrapped in a white handkerchief

of the clouds that outline the sky,

in blue denims, wilted a bit by sunlight,

and a tee, dull pink and grey toned

with the collar like that of a noose,

a stainless steel watch flashing, thick and

minutely grazed now, halted in time,

I sauntered like a shadow through the streets,

no purpose in mind, but to get lost,

though not possible in a civic over-inhabited,

but only as long as my two arms affixed,

not rising a single sound, I ambled around,

some looked at me with a grimace,

others ignoring me like I coveted,

I stirred the crowd when necessary,

paving my course to an unknown place,

I was walking towards in a daze,

taking a turn here and there, nowhere,

seemed like hours since I had been doing it,

my mind thinking of its own accord,

and I ignoring every fact with every other thought,

it was only 15 minutes later that,

I returned back, drenched in sweat of the summer,

I marched in back to the enclosure of safety,

relieved that I was back from the world,

being an element of which, yet I did not belong,

appear and sit down facing a laptop,

inscribing down in a blog post,

“Today I went for a walk.”

 .

* Though I didn’t go for a walk today, that is usually what happens whenever I do. Still, there was one particular walk I had in my mind when I wrote this. I was walking fast but then I had slowed down and then stopped and then made myself tread those steps. I wasn’t tired physically.. who can feel fatigue after such a short walk!? But mind can travel for miles in the very same time. And that is what had happened with me. I rarely step out of this place… not sure why.. but may be I know. I do know, I guess. Submitting this piece for dVerse OLN.