The path into the dark is golden.
I am moving forward to reach the
point. My shadow is floating behind
me like the answer of the secret which
had been stolen and we are hungry for
light and still we are going,
despite everything, despite the rules –
the rules that governed you already mooned,
despite the laws of the universe speechless,
you spurred yourself into life… Because,
besides you I am not searching anything in you.
Look at East suffer Tsunami
North-West suffer worst incessant Earth Quakes
West Infighting, South-West Bombarding
More at https://markumantri.wordpress.com/.
The dead do not say- I love you
Thirty years
You are a dark picture
A fly sits on you
What can be said
Next to this silence
No matter what,
The dead do not say
I love you.
More at http://www.ithl.org.il/page_16628.
Once there was me
and then there was not
So many years searching
wondering where I was
Things ignored and wasted
too many to count
Opportunities lost
hope forsaken
But the day came
when it all changed
I realized my worth
I’d never go back again
Is it gathered to the garbage bag?
And thrown away to the darkest place in the heart?
Is it ignored or destroyed
But feelings are abstract, can you fabricate them?
Where does the unwanted love go?
I have glimpsed lot of dark gorgeous beautiful magnificent woman
Who are holding on to those phantoms of psychopaths
With that hope of blizzard in the dessert
Deteriorating to let go of branches of thorns in the heart
Where the unwanted love does goes?
I have glimpsed marvelous, intelligent, wonderful children’s
Who are lingering for their father’s to love them
It is something they dream of each and every day
Only to find that they are grabbing the mist the sun is already up.
Love is patient, compassionate, it has no jealous and does not give glory to itself
Love does not puffs up and it does not behave itself unseeingly
It is not easily provoked but it believes all things
Love hopes everything, endures everything and it sweet
Where the superfluous love does go?
I saw them hard working, sweating, and thriving for success
Now they have made it, devoid of father’s love
They basically have everything and their fathers got nothing
Should they wine and dine them?
Where the superfluous love does go?
Bare fingers stretch the feeling-bands, the poet poseur,
Bakes his poems on a fire, he says, that blanches his heart:
A fire that blanches his heart, makes breathing hard and feeds his art.
Decades diseased, then death, of a friend.
She waited for it. She woke every morning half-ready,
Half-knowing her next day could also be last.
She waited patiently, as friends do for friends long lost,
Expected any moment from pools of oblivion return.
News reached me in time, they thought, not I.
In time to book my ticket and catch my plane.
In time to reach at her place before they took her to grave.
In time to tell the others that I was one of them.
How can anyone think that I, a man with a job
would manage at such short notice?
In time another call then came after death one more.
And time I could not find to go there one more time.
Thus told them one more time, I was not one of them.
Death has always been an interesting subject –
frightening but interesting.
Seeing, as standing on my cherished place.
Thinking, as the time passed, everything changed.
Once, there was chirping of birds.
Once, there, butterflies fluttered.
As the breeze touched my skin, tranquillised my soul.
That feeling was best of all.
As the green leaves of a tree,
danced in that breeze.
There was, Carpet of green grass
With shining of morning dew, like shining of the stars.
Gazing constantly, the open blue sky,
was the best part of my life.
Only residing in my memory now, mesmerizing view of this dreamland.
But in reality, all lost into the forgotten sands.
No birds chirping anymore.
No butterflies fluttering anymore.
That breeze, can’t tranquillise me anymore.
Mesmerizing beauty, i can’t see anymore.
Now, standing in that place alone.
Everything is barren now, i see, everything has gone.
More at https://poetriesonreality.home.blog/.