Often, in my lone wanderings
As an observer of crude life
I found myself without bearings
Crossroads on the road to strife
I was buried deeper by society
Partaking in social events
I donned new faces and acts
Shuffling roles between pretends
Fed slowly the poison of taste
Gulped down by the wine divine
I summoned the satan in a haste
Told him ‘the pleasures are thine’
I grew by the fire and read
Myself in the shifting flames
Earning me, myself, a bread
While a while engaging in games.
In my lone wanderings
I often did realize
Speak and hear of it no more
To live and write shall be wise.
Her silence,speaks volumes
In a symphony, like a tune
her anger says she loves hard,
her actions reveal her heart
Her fire measures her warmth
her eyes speak her story
she marks her presence faintly
committing her crime so saintly.
Her touch has lingered,
and it talks on about her
longing to feel once more,
the way she made me feel before.
Her laughter echoing,
Has left behind a smile
Now she is gone and I realise
That nothing anymore is worthwhile.
– Mayank ‘Sahar’ Mishra
She held my heart till the very end,
crushing it since the moment I gave it
my heart, a broken machine, held in glass
hurt her soft palm and thin fingers,
the blood from my heart, combined
with the blood from her veins..
our minds tricked us far away
from each other’s gravity
but our hearts, faithful drums,
still beat and bleed the same..
There is a girl who gives me poems
In the night or early morning
I hear her silent whisper
Calling my soul away from
The night to the lovely dawn
The girl she gives me my poems
She is a distant dream
No phrases can match her
No metaphors or similes
Let her float in the skies
For another eerie night
The girl with the words of my poems
Her magic is violent
A collision of galaxies
Like my thoughts are dust
Her breath is the light in stars
The poet in me is free as
Her touch varies in degrees
The girl like the words of my poems
She left me no rule to follow
Making and unmaking me again
A silent trail of woven words
Like petals strewn on the roads
To the palace where she rests
A path the poet must take always She is the girl of my poems.
You left me too explicit in love
Vulnerable to all its stormy nights
Stuck in a dream, shipwrecked.
But you too are implicit and will be
Wrought beneath my words
Like crushed fragrance of a flower
I will paint you in my poems
And skip the dream for real
Making you the meaning
My words would have died
An unfinished poem…
All those stories we made together
All those thoughts shared
I was left with
An unconditional love and lots of memories.
It’s just a start, things will drag on to far fetched destination..
we will walk on and cross realms beyond imagination…
Everyday asking the universe for a new relation..
we will walk long roads trotting in hesitation..
balking on banks on the road to perdition..
Till the road diverges again, breaking the tradition..
No blind beliefs, no sheep walk and no representation.
Burying past and luck, walk with me and defy predestination…
“life has shown me
perspectives and motions
made me hear, feel and see..
thoughts and notions..
ate many a poisonous weeds
juices and potions
learnt many a lesson of
regret and caution
it is all round and round
everything in motion..”
Sometimes the best feelings are expressed in the simplest words. Just like Da Vinci spoke, “Simplicity is the best sophistication.”
This poem narrates the tragic scenario of two young friends getting separated and ultimately end up never saying hello again..
Around the Corner
Around the corner I have a friend,
in this great city that has no end.
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
and before I know it, a year is gone.
And I never see my old friends face,
for life is swift and a terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well,
as in the days when I rang his bell.
And he rang mine, if we were younger then,
and now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.
“Tomorrow” I say,” I will call on Jim”… ”
Just to show that I’m thinking of him”.
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
and distance between us grows.
Around the corner!- yet miles away,
“here’s a telegram sir” “Jim died today”.
And thats what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.
by: Henson Towne