redemption

made of bare bones
and sticks,

clay-modeled diagrams,
chips of a china doll —

the earth-buoyed body cricks,
cracks, like the door,
seldom opened.

i wait to be explored,
i seek redemption,
in

the thickets,
calls of
a cuckoo,

the arms of
my
chthonic god.

~

 

Intermingling psychology and symbolism with my current state of mind, a little something for dVerse Quadrille #63

Image source: Vincent Van Skelly (a parody of Van Gogh’s Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear) by Marie Marfia

And here’s something moody for you:

***

I have been working on a new Insta handle for over a month now, for literary and creative posts: @anmol.ha.
For contact, you can reach out to me through my multiple profiles, enlisted here.

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Last Year

last year gone —
a new night shadows
the usual talk
~
barking dogs
trail my shadow
like last year
~
last year memories —
ablaze in the orange flame
of the street light

.

Linking it up with Carpe Diem # 639 and Heeding Haiku With HA: New Year(click to participate now)

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It is 2015. I wish you and your loved ones a joyous and prosperous new year.
There are certain blogging resolutions, I would like to make, for this year:

1. Write at least a 100 posts this year.
2. Poetry must be the focal point but I would also like to consider writing reviews(books and music albums) and simple thoughts coursing through my mind.
3. Renew friendship with the bloggers. In 2014, I lost touch with many bloggers. I would like to renew contact with them, while at the same time, making some new friends in the blogosphere.
4. Participate exclusively in the prompts of poetry and blogging communities.
5. Reach a wider audience through my writing, with the help of other social networking sites like Twitter.

She

She sneaks behind me,

walking my shadow along incensed path.

She kindles the fiery spirit encompassed in me.

People ask, “Do you see her much?”

I do.

She is before I am.

I am her. My nature she is…

She is me.

.

*For Yeah Write Weekly Writing Challenge.

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Being a Shadow

the luster of the day light dances in front of me,

and I try to catch it, only to find myself burning,

my skin turning into ashes, a tingling sensation

that comforts me, like rubbing my hands on silk,

only more real, more closer to touch, picturing

the black lines of my desire, of getting absorbed

into the world of no one, splayed onto the wall,

sensing the pain of being in close vicinity of light,

yet not being able to keep a part of it with me,

for I occur with it, without it, straying from it,

for I am a shadow, sometimes dotted with

the precious beams piercing me, but often

found alone, listening to your awes as

you look for your shape, your own self in me

.

Image source

Along a shadow: A Tanka

source

burning afternoon

eyes shaded within glasses

fitted cap on skull

moving along a shadow

the end unknown, unwanted