They don’t know she’s there,
situated – pen in hand
not in despair, but joy
watching syllables,
drawing metaphors with words,
adding flair, to an ordinarily bland sentence
They have no idea, she’s seated –
fingers, waltzing across keys,
performing their dance of love,
to lyrics (with such ease)
No, they don’t know any of this, at all,
nor could they ever, comprehend
More at http://lyrical-discovery.blogspot.com/ and http://wovenstanzas.blogspot.com/.
I cry inconsolably after reading a poem
I can’t stop myself from crying out
After penning a poem
The poems that I read
Under such pencil of light
It is a boon of a star
That expired a hundred years ago
A hundred years hence
Someone would read a poem in its light
Poetry means
An invisible river
Flowing inside the heart
That reads writes listens in solitude
That understands poetry
O Poet Sun
I can’t make out with my earthly eyes
The essence of poetry
Please bestow on me
The heavenly sight
Translated from Assamese by Bibekananda Choudhury
A poet’s definition
Mind numbing
Depression causing
Setting madness free
Inner true self’s
Exploding onto paper
Poetry writing; demons
Set loose, left to play
With words lost
Thoughts coming alive
Just one more beer
One more poem
Mind numbed
Forgotten
Hiding inside my story line
Under the skin I live in
The bones
That keep it together
An unmade bed
with rumpled sheets
Dreaming in 3 D
The mask of many faces
Can boil your blood
Kiss your heart
Draw you into the breath
Of chaos
Move right in
Ponder these words
On the page
And dress my naked Metaphor
He worked in a sweat shop
way back when
a wordless widowed man
with a quiet hypnotic expression
coming home on a bus one day
fell to the floor
and passed away,
my beloved uncle
I missed his mystical silence
I knew he could
see inside me
They prepared to sell his house
sifting through junk
about to discover a surprise
in his dust,
a wooden chest
hammered brass trim
with magic writing paper
and a thousand poems
His silence bled out
the tip of a pen
drawing out the words
inside him
questions and answers
awakened by his light
curiosity opened a chest
of expressive treasure
I picture him unraveling
the mystery of self discovery
delighting in his invention
did anyone know the poem
in his heart
or did they only see
an assumption
His secret poems
were not folding money
ink on paper
thrown away
dying with him
on the bus that day
In these digital landscapes
we trickle and tickle with words
etched in glowing cursor
Sounds meet and merge
in bound affinity spaces,
one would hope packed
always with friends
Gathered around a literary
cause, assembled by love
of writ and lit, always
submerged in the latest story
Always drafting the next verse.
With every poem I write
I’m putting myself
On the line
With no place to hide
Except the space
Between words
Giving breath to a flow
Of thought
Automatically spilling ink
As if the pen in hand
Has a mind of its own
I’ve been the sparrow
And the crow
The rebel and the wife
A headline story
Sound bites
Underneath the layers
Of dust
The many renditions
Of myself
If the road is deserted
and you see a cat ambling
across, will it have one
or nine lives?
If the weather-beaten
flower dies, is it reborn?
And when dousing passions
I write a poem,
will it get printed
or forgotten?
In myriad dreams, how
do we interpret?
Dreams a waking call,
cats do not have nine lives,
one like us, like a poem.
The poetry smells of nicotine
That leads dizzying and reeling brains
To the pathways of
Contemplated lunacy,
Riding the sea waves
In cotton stockings
Never getting wet.
The poetry smells of hallucinogen
Embroidering the fatal cups
That await the conjugation
With the scarlet lips
Summered by the warmth
Of the touch gloved in
Wildness.
Drugged. Dragged. Drudged.
Writing poems
I hope
Someone with a mind
Will tell me
What they mean
In a dyslexic ramble
Scrambled words
Easy over
Surreal abstract
Covered with numbing veils
It must be easier to contrive
Speaking gibberish
Escaping the page
As my fingers grip
The accomplice pen
A crazy dancer on blank paper
Forms symbols
The unconscious flow
of ink
A Rorschach poem
Tell me what you think