A twinkling sea
And sand in
This morning’s
Spectacular
Display for
Our pleasure.
This foaming,
Bubbling land
Smiles at me.
For our leisure
Is the source of
Our vernacular.
The daily grind
We left standing
In the bitter cold
As we’ve traveled
Long and hard far
Away from home
Before we’re too old
To fully enjoy landing
Beside palms sublime.
For we never truly know
When the ending starts,
And ultimately unravels,
As we are as sand in time.
Life would depart
Leaving the body lying on earth
Someone would cry
Someone would laugh
I would keep watching everything
I won’t die
At the death of my body
I stay alive
For long
(Translated from assamese by Bibekananda Choudhury)
It was like the sweep of land seen from ships
Coursing the misted bay and calling through the night
Like safety all at once spilling from our lips
And carrying us ashore, beaten by light
And salt bitten tides; the murmured orisons
Of promises. Whispered and held in hand.
Forbidding and tempting purple as damsons
Encrypting love to coded lore to hold
And ever have. Sold as pomegranate seeds
And pink jewelled life until death splits even bold
Stateless minds beyond and all knowledge bleeds
And prowls to devour this harboured hold,
This plaited harvest ring; this wedded band.
This new love that wraps us whole. This new land.
More at https://www.jmiddletonpoems.com/.
O lovely flowers! incessant redolence! with what colorful aroma and sweetness and light of eminence my brio loves scattering the seeds of prestige!
All the hours of the day
I spend in the garden of flowers,
Consoling my all lethargy,
Endowing me spirits of euphoria
Oh, how it solaces and spirits my body! Hark! in what music and rhyming,
Awakes my soul,
Rises the whiff of beds of roses,
Bees, butterflies, all things
Adore them in their kinds
Thus all are innate in sanctified music and tranquility, the great knell of nature.
O let me live
When I die!
The soul surceased
by an hour, like not seeing a shooting star
Oh my heart aches
Deep inside me,
I, inhumed in a hole dug
in the ground,
As yet with a deep aroma of flowers,
In my life beyond the grave.
When time
takes away the color from the green-leafed nature
– it will return.
When time
touches the human so heavily
– a memory will remain.
But when
the death-dealing people
take the breath away,
besides memories,
remain questions,
– Why?
– What for?
– In the name of what faith
does a Human kill a Human?
(Translated by Artur Komoter.)
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as bones dry
tears irrigate landscapes
blushed cheeks,
running creeks
of mascara blues
dark shadows oversee
graveyards of feelings
and epitaphs of irony
form words on stone monuments to the dead
fantasies
of forever intended “i do’s”
i walk through this silent storm
during partially moonlit nights
and think of you, and you and you
and find no words
to etch into my stone-cold memory
for you or you or you
three shadows follow me along the walk
and my hand draped limply at my side
no ghosts i want to hold onto
just gnarled fingers of pain disfigured
dreams
as bones dry
as bones dry
i cry to no one in particular
and then gather my tears like ashes in an urn
and toss them over my shoulder
moving on
thankful for that minuscule slit of moonlight
that stuck around for the finale.
Even though she knew what will it turn around,
Where will it end, where will she drown …
Still,
Sings the tiny moth,..Swinging her wings ,
Just to remind ‘fire’ about her nemesis…
wandering around the way of fire,
feeble ‘little moth’ in her vain desire …
though it might turn it into cause less ash ,
or will burn ‘her’ leaving no flesh …