Poetic Poise

Poetic Poise

Ponder alone for a brief moment
why composing is so significant,
isn’t there quite a few minds
busy seeking what more is there to find?
why I have to scribble my incoherent thought
unsure of acceptability…mostly distraught..?
I am sure there will be some who will seek
poetry between the metered lines.. iambic
pentameter sonnets or various other odes
form within life’s innumerable modes..
words would be chosen… alliterative analogies or semblance
anguish and metaphysics would make perfect balance.
for them poetries are not mere words so intrinsic
not sonnets or quatrains but poet’s mental Orphic.

But there would be readers who read the poem
feel the words with their deepest mind and fathom,
perceives the conception that lies beneath lines,
Latent thoughts that run through poet’s veins.

Image credit Rightful owner

An Odyssey of Human

An Odyssey of human

Walking without a pause
for millions of years with a cause
from the darkest abyss of nescience
we are proceeding towards the radiance
and emerged on this day of manifestation
not unscathed though, but plenty to revelation…
We have arrived with blood dripping body
and shredded souls of compromise and treachery
we have emerged with mournings and wailing
Innocent weak and incapable human being
we have passed through parched and flooded lands
we have crossed frozen and fertile expands.
But road didn’t end here…only we are tired,
destination hasn’t arrived yet and we are not spared
the long meandering road lies ahead with unknown amazement
we are just aweary footsloggers remembering our lost moments.
We are not expected to take a break or lie in stupor
Moving on the path of life is our destiny till lowered anchor.

Image Credit Colton Sturgeon

My Possessions

My possessions

I own few riches that are solely my own
a slender piece of sky and few plants I sown
a few distant sound of music I get to hear
some blobs of soft sunshine makes a dare..

I own few riches that are solely my own
none can claim them neither disown
breeze that touches my dry parched skin
dewdrops that moistens my soul in chagrin.

I own few riches that are solely my own
a slice of your amorous heart that always glow
a part of heart may be not the complete whole
still that’s my own and my only soul.

I own few riches that are solely my own
Few moments that never leave me alone
cetain desires stick with my soul
like half eaten chewing gum on my clothes.

I own few riches that are solely my own
that tiniest pale star in farthest constellation
it smiles at me whenever I’m alone
it silently imbues my battered bones.

Then there stands on my way home
a white bordered marble grave stone
which waits patiently for my walk towards horizon
I own few riches that are solely my own.

Image credit Rightful Owner



Of late mind is often losing reciprocal consciousness
being captive for so long…..
body doesn’t respond to the mental obeisance..
shadowy figures grab me by  hand
rudely directs me to an end…

I keep walking with them
daubed in their sweat and tears
those year long painful passionate tugs
Past compassionate feelings
gets moistened in my tears
I keep walking….

Look for that vast blue expanse
whom we used to call as sky
with the white candyfloss cloud saunter
does it really touch the green pasture !!
birds with their feathers smeared in sun
soars high to an unknown haven…

With an indifferent heart
and some failed dreams in sleepless eye
I merge with the mob for an unknown destination
with the sole aim of living a life
meaningless insignificant lazarus existence
just to breathe and escape death.

I suddenly discovered
that I died long ago……
my name was human !!

Image Credit Rightful Owner

The Unwary

The Unwary

Keep arranging  the festoon  of words
never woke up  to making sen(tence)se,  
longing for your sappy attention
not sure you ever realise.

Stayed awake to watch the night sky
the suicidal leaps of comets,
searched for the brightest moon
and a few sparkling planets.

I earnestly  await for the dawn
stolid expanse of the crimson energy
appear with  a transparent vow
to bring the darkness on its knee.

I  forget the  engaging nights
Scrawling of  mythical emotive  verses, 
even forget my longing  for you
realistic world chases.

The world is not for the poets
Never made by the almighty, 
arguments and realistic explations
rules the planet and may find them plenty.

Don’t be disappointed dreamers
realists will beg for your mercy
nothing will be destroyed, till then
World will remain for us, albeit slight messy.

Image credit Rightful owner

An Unoriginal Poetry

An unoriginal poetry

What’s original in
this earth !!
every idea is repeated
nothing really
of much woth,
still some miracles
occur everyday
as fresh and new
like moist clay,
every dawn paints the
with unique shades
of few million
scent of every dew
hangs on the blade of grass
fresh and fragrant drops
as an hourglass..

Since the first ray of sun
and first cry of child
things have been originated,
whosoever did
had been repeated too
as experiments followed
hence nothing remained original
all were borrowed.
We invent and reinvent
our happiness and anguish
with our limited capacity
hardly lavish,
paint with sheeny strokes
on the much painted canvas
creating anew
some incoherent balderdash,
few new emotions
and novel scepticism
arises with noisy fanfare
even egoistic narcissm
which is then celebrated
as original brand new dogmas
time laughs it’s scornful laughter
like frigid deep ocean mingles
with red hot magma.

Image Credit Rightful Owner

Life Saga

Life saga

A half filled cup of remorse
some melancholic stain on finger tip
sundry floating dust of solitary sulking frown
my life is a somber moment of scarlet sundown.

Few bleak benches of your anticipation
a broken clock with motionless hands
several impatient and irritated blow flies
Life of me is an eternal wait for pale placid time.

Some unspoken words in tear soaked pillow
darkened apparitions of nightlamp shadows
moistened fluttering curtains in monotony of rain
my life is one relentless saga of excruciating pain.

Image credit Daniel Minlo


by som©

It’s the beginning of  end
it’s time of birth for the dead,
step by step gradually
every happiness will die eventually,
hopes aspirations and expectations
will crumble before the chaplains,
helpless hearts will harvest the hopes
in the darkened alley will they grope,
for the values and venerable virtues
Scavenge the stains of morality to enthuse.

A pale sun and the grey moon
will not change….. not any soon
vices will rule to win over the morale
ocean will hide much below the coral
species will introspect, search for the sin
vices will fight among them to be the king.
Won’t it be sad to lose the civilization!!
won’t we all be sitting for apperception  !!
won’t we all pray for a big red Sun !!
but by then,
it will be too late,
won’t have any place for us to run.

Photo credit Rightful Owner

To love is to burn..

To love is to burn..

To love is to burn !
she hinted at my indifference,
It’s almost like to be on fire!
I glanced at her pretense…

Do you.write poetries,
are you a poet?
I implored her romantic self
couldn’t really locate..!

Poet or not…
poetries or prose,
love is the language
that everyone spoke..

I was impressed!
but still not felt the spark
how eventually love happens
will she leave a mark !!

What about that burn
she mentioned about love?
doesn’t love supposed to be happy
I queried from above…

Sky remained nonchalant
Sun hid behind the cloud,
wait till the moon emerges
She’d normally respond if in mood..

Night arrived with darkness and moon
stars were all there, none left alone
I hesitated a lot before could speak
What’s that burn in love, what do you think?

Moon shied and sounded perturbed
love is the longling for someone you desire
but it hardly ensues that both do manifests
when love seem evident lover goes far.

To love is to burn, to be on fire.” – Jane Austen

Photo credit Rightful owner


som ©

With multifaceted desire
in blood
and scent of water in body
the heart awaits
for wild uterine savagery,
while stars transcends
the astronomical distance
with feathery steps and
leaves a stain on my window..,..

Few shadows merge with.
some preposterous paradigm
vies for supremacy….

My sultry nights perspire
subconscious dream
with you in every speck
of my perception…

We dwell within us
but on different amplitude,
never restricting our
purview nor attitude.

Painting by Steve Johnson

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