a long walk

Orange tree city walk (2017) by Mark Croucher

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

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let me be.

I walk in the shadows-

there’s a slight rustle of the leaves
overhead.

the sun touches my foot-steps
through the smog,

evanescent,

there’s a slight rustle of the leaves
behind me.

the cloud breaks open to reveal
the spillage of blue, her eyes

trace the contours of my existence.

numb thoughts are strewn on my path,
the world is asleep and I, awake.

so let the winds be, let me be.

.

Image source: LIGHTS AND SHADOWS — PALETTE KNIFE Oil Painting On Canvas By Leonid Afremov

Linking it up with Poets United Midweek Motif- Tranquility.

This is Poem # 4 for my 30 Days, 30 Poems Challenge.

Walking with her… in her heels

she wakes up drenched in the ocean of dreams,

and hurries off to repair, work on her life’s seams,

brushing rivulets of her hair, she leans into the mirror,

considering self, moving forward near and nearer,

only disturbed by the ring of the peaceful phone,

but deciding whether to attend it or not, it is gone

to leave a silence, that she tastes tingling on her lips,

and finally, she leaves for the streets, swaying her hips,

down the path to the usual location, she waits,

habitually ignoring the trail of car after car that rates,

the size and shape of her and others of her business,

conforming to their needs, their lives of weakness,

one hand points towards her, agreeing her to come,

she notices, complies, and through the door she sits glum,

on the seat reeking of cigarettes and urine of old,

she feels the four wheels move, she is now sold

to the night, forgetful of her heart that refuses to beat,

she falls out, not to see a thing or hear the fall of sleet,

coming to herself, she stands, stumbling, stiffness she feels,

exits a bar, a motel, an apartment in her heels,

carefully counting the bills, walking on into the day,

alone on the path where there are many and many  lay,

but no one really is, but for dreams that await on the single bed,

those false entities have no seams repaired, she has no threads

.

Image source

I started off without any thought but then I was reminded of the insensitivity of some people towards those… whose lives they have not lived and yet they judge. They do not know how it is to be in their shoes. I feel and I can at least try to imagine their lives… and give words to their untold stories. This is a work of fiction but it may well be a real life account… I don’t know.

I appreciate constructive criticism.

I am linking it up with dVerse Meeting the Bar.

Along a shadow: A Tanka

source

burning afternoon

eyes shaded within glasses

fitted cap on skull

moving along a shadow

the end unknown, unwanted

Joy Haiku

curtains put aside

the conscious stirs to wake up

joyous morning rays

~

touch of joy on skin

walking along aimlessly

rhythm of foot steps

* For Carpe Diem # 240.

* The first Right2Write Prompt is open for submissions. Do participate..