signaling the day-end is a light
soft to touch, sweet in its flavor, dark
in its attire, wiping smiles and words
from my ramshackle lips – empty eyes
carrying in its hold wry remembrance,
it tricks me by wind-woven fingers,
playing with a velvet shadow, blue-green
in color, smooth dew-leaves in temper.
.
Image source
(Anticipation of the evening coolness by Nikolai Taidakov)
Edit: Linking it up with Tuesday Platform at With Real Toads
Convergence Of The Four Winds by Michelle Vyn
be the wind of lost thought
seeking redemption of ideas
that burn
inside the hollow eyes,
have you ever thought of that pink scarf,
bleached, tattered, zooming through the sky
like a fake smile on your lips?
have you ever heeded the power of a blow
of air on the birthday candles, how it
erases the years lived?
be the wind that you can’t be,
be a smelly fart if need be,
be an ode to nature, or
a quatrain that seeks nothing.
do you know of the neck
that was adorned atop the light
house, where I stood, the wind:
my body, my sheath, my life,
and how it felt to be suspended
with nothing else to spare
but for a breath of air,
hair ruffled,
silences bespoken;
do you know that neck
belonged to me?
I died that second,
and I have been dying
thenceforth.
I am the wind, I am
the power,
and I am invariably caught
in this struggle.
.
Image source
Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif.
when the light spilled out in the open,
I took a pause, my stride halted in that pulse
as they moved ahead,
his curls were visible in the crowd and her
pacified smile,
it was when the dark and light conquered
each other that I knew of those punctured
holes in my chest, I acknowledged my skin
in its composite radiance…
the distance covered itself, and holding hands
became arbitrary to my nature of resistance,
and letting my fingers entangled in her locks,
I saw to it that I would need, I would be human,
I would want to be found.
when the light spilled out in the open,
my heart was wrenched out of my open self,
and my bloodied hands traced the curves
of my laughter as its thunder boomed
against the sky, and the savage sun
spilled more light,
and the wailing winds fell into my eyes.
it was Elpis that rose from that gaping
hole, a new birth of dying, an old ending
to the origin of life,
open –
they saw the light.
.
and by the virtue of a dying god,
I laid open some old thoughts,
and assassinated each one
by
one,
the blood spurred on my face, the
fates danced in my dreams, I saw
a night so young and delectable,
that I ejaculated my venom, rubbing
against its folds, my heart stung,
it’s a morning of blossoming
shades, lilac and violet, that I enclose
in my arms,
the winds whip my hair gently, the sun consumes
my face by its silent glare, fuchsia rings adorn my
brown cheek, and I decide that it is time to sleep-
my face upheld by the strings of the sky, mouth open
for hovering bees – there’s a certain kind of violence in it.
.
A fragmented and anxious piece for Day # 7 of my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge.
the farsighted ocean calls me,
I shift my glance to take a whiff, of
new visions on the landscape
soaked with blood, of dreariness.
I am an effigy made of sand, touched
by the fingers of her sweet melodies.
her lips open up into the cavern
of the sky, dotted with planetary
orbits of my heart.
I can not see the ocean, it is away
in the gloom of the void, but I watch
her flippant dance as she clutches
her dress buttoned up for modesty
unlocking charms of my dead eye.
Inspired from Bjorn Rudberg’s poem, Nipping at the hard place. I loved the play of metaphors in his verse. It is a very artistic write.
Though, I couldn’t keep up with Bjorn’s natural flow, I still tried my hand at Catachresis, the literary device Bjorn used in his poem. I had to check what it meant and I read in detail about it here(shame on me for not knowing about it :D). And as soon as I read about it, I went on to write this piece.
HA's Place 