amour

evening_a_24_inches_high_x_34_reproduction_oil_painting_68b57a6f

dear

oh Dear –
it’s an evening of amour,
experienced alone, behind the open
windows- a view for the world
abstaining from desire, I disrobe
the words, and let them ablaze
on
the tip
of
my tongue.

dear

oh Dear –
let’s flow, let’s blow, let’s sing,
let’s waltz around in our skins,

*तू स्पर्श है तो मैं एहसास,
लब से जो तू छू ले तो मैं विलाप,
तू पुष्प जो है तो मैं  भँवरा हूँ.

let’s flow, let’s blow, let’s sing,
let loose control.

in dots and dashes,
I sigh, my last word,
in dots and dashes.

dear

oh Dear –

*you are the touch, I am sensation,
you are the kiss, I am that moan,
you are the flower and I, a bumble-bee.

Image source

Linking it up with Poetry Pantry.

A Side Note: One of my favorite poets and bloggers, Oloriel Moonshadow, has recently published her poetry collection. Please check out her book here. It’ll be available on Amazon soon.

where silence stays

on stilts, I walk through the haze where silence stays,
there’s a trail of blood I follow towards the night, where
words are without sound and only the shrieks are heard,
another one is hunted, another one is sighing in arms
of death which comforts better than the living can do,

a body is found in the swamp of ignorance, indifference,
his lips are sealed with a long needle of fear, a remnant
of a thread hanging by his lower lip, in an eternal wisp
of a smile, I tug at it to open, hear the words of the dead.

I ache to know what is in silence, amid the numbing noise
of an inhumane blow, of a machete, of a piercing bullet.

.

I wrote a piece for the prompt at dVerse last night but careless that I am, I forgot to save it and ended up losing it. It was oddly melancholic for me because I was satisfied with my words for the first time in months. Today, I tried writing again(in long hand to minimize the risk of losing my words yet again) to raise my voice with all others at dVerse Poetics, in favour of freedom of speech and expression, and against all forms of censorship and forced silence. This piece is not a political commentary; just based on the idea of how I feel for those who dare to speak.

Image source: Low Haze at Dusk by Elaine Jones

For the boy within me

 

too afraid to speak,

you must not be helpless,

nor shall I let you become me

because I belong to the same creed

as they have been, who channeled all

the thoughts to cross their mind, in words

branching out of their brain, and well they do

leave my material, beading into a wreath of mute

cicadas as my empathy for your cancer of speechless

tendencies, so chew over some of them to release essence

of the beastly shells, and gulp down all your emotions in poison

of my cheat, so you die

.

Linking it with Sunday Whirl’s Wordle 158.

Image source

Left with me

left with me, an old worn out novel,

he gave me for a reading,

I returned back one of my own

by an oversight, and thus I carry

his fingerprints ingrained in the words,

that whirl their wings inside my head,

vying through my voice, feeding me

with sweetening and tart rudiments

of the narrative,

.

when I glance at the first leaf,

I discover his mother’s forename

penned carefully, it belonged to her

and I trace (whom I’ve never met)

her trail, in smears of her sweat

as she must have turned the pages,

levying her ownership on the print,

that being possessed by me now,

I feel a thief

.

Image source

A simple piece for dVerse Meeting the Bar. I had earlier added a further two lines, but for me, the end this way holds more meaning.