first meeting

of an igniting kind,
your eyes held an allure,
the iridescent gaze never touching me,
but keeping stable the carefully-crafted
space between us,
between restraint and desire,
demarcating our manner of speaking,

i wonder if you knew of my need to forego any
responsibility, why i did not take the first step
towards breaking the hazard of a first meeting,

i had held my words close to my chest,
tasted eucalyptus at the back of my tongue,
crafting the sounds of my voice in a way
that they shall not dissect this set order,

i was scared, i am scared, still, that i can
not be trusted to peer through a pair of eyes
to know or begin to know, all that i seek
and all that i may want,

your resting pose only perplexed me,
i seemed to be lost in my sapling-like
mind, a single thought rising in warmth
(this is where it begins to fade)
drinking the sunlight off your face, and
the silence of my dusk-enamored smiles.

your leave-taking compounded my interest
in that yearning, and not your absence —
i keep it near and vanquish the details
of the loneliness, of that solitary evening,
which is not mine to hold on to.

it is also yours. i accept,
pulling back my heartstrings.

.

© Anmol Arora

Image source (Man with a heart-IV by Stanislav Bojankov)
Linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads

be careful

Bottom Left: Rossatty

.

what is with all these dew drops,
that stand   a   p   a   r   t    and together
on the pebbles of my path,

it meanders through tunnels
and valleys, overgrowth everywhere,
sprouting seeds of tolerance and bearing.

be careful of your heart because where it sets
becomes your yearning, it’s a debt that won’t go
off, it will surely be yours, like those eyes.

so be a Ferris wheel of life, winds won’t stop you.

.

For Writing Prompt# 132 at MLM Menagerie and Micro Poetry at At Real Toads.

This is Poem # 8 for my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge. And now I have started to get restless. Ha!

To become Fire

my heart has begun to rhyme,
it’s committed the solemn crime
to begin the walk taken alone,
stepping on land that moans
with every blink of yellow eyes,
I’m finding stars that never rise,
I am in the wilderness of desire,
I am reaching out to become fire.

touch me where it hurts the most,
I am ready to pay all the costs,
there is no meaning to the sea
that perspires in moments of glee,
I am sea foam, salted with desire,
I am reaching out to become fire,
that pardons none and forgives all
I am giving away to you my soul.

my heart has begun to rhyme,
it’s blossoming with dirt and grime,
there is no penitentiary for lust,
it is the fuel that never combusts,
the journey ends where it begins,
innocence dead, the demons win,
I am lost in wilderness of desire,
I am reaching out to become fire.

.

Written in consideration of dVerse Poetics where we are writing octets. I did not follow the syllable structure. I was reading Bilbo’s Last Song (At The Grey Havens) by J.R.R Tolkien, written in three octets. So, I came up with this verse which can be called vulgar in comparison to Tolkien’s verse. But that is what I am. Vulgar. 😀
I haven’t been writing much lately but for some empty verses which I scribble on the book that I am reading. I hope that you have not forgot me already.

Image source

caved in, I burrow to find a connection

I burrow through the snow to wake my senses
in the flurry of warmth pervading out, I am in
the eye of the hurricane, my skin frosted, it
peels into papier-mâché, rising trees out of
sinew, it is comforting to see a new life form
from the dead extravagance I carry forth.

the chill does not affect the mind of a hermit
cross-legged standing for centuries, the fire
of tapas burns within his heart, and I see it
aglow in my third eye, I shake myself as fog
sheds its feathers, ice thaws in puddles of
a hope, murky and shallow, but rippling yet.

I found someone I do not know ahead of me
he is out, yet in, I am alone, yet I’m not.

.

I am so conflicted about the last line. When I wrote it, I was completely fine with it but after when I came back to edit it, my mood was completely transformed. It irks me to see it there.

For dVerse Poetics.

Image source

the view at the end of the lines

a blessing that ricochets off my chest
to fall on my bare toes, scarred and
engraved with the lines of silent sky,
that blessing is what I hold, much like
a dead flower in my palms, watering
as a futile attempt for it to reawaken.

I shut the heart inside a jewel box,
to beat unheard by lines of leisure,
it is like the peeling paint that just
won’t fall, demanding attention of
its decay, hurting eyes, I don’t want
to see anymore, everything in shreds.

there is a view at the end of all lines
that beckons all those lost leaves
plucked away from the home tree,
I am in the midst finding my way
to the chasm where it stops being
of consequence, needed no more.

.

For Sunday Mini-Challenge at With Real Toads. I am also going to link it up with Poetry Pantry at PU.

Image source– It is an oil on canvas by Piet Mondrian.