Ageing agonies

Skin has folded
in sheets
wrinkles writing off
the once-upon-a-time
nimble, agile text
hormones not in harmony
words come out
from the depth of truth.

Civilization doesn’t need verity
it masks in aesthetic ingenuity
asks me to hide my brown leaf
like a copied story
with desperate colors
lying in layers
o why can’t I move free
of what use then is technology
is it a crime to be born before
you made me a cell to rest in peace
but for heavens I want to live for sure
I pray give me the expertise.

What contradiction
when the same you talks of the yore
but neglect the living history
shove it as shame
but my agony is my glory
to make me accept just as I am
is my only aim.

This world is good
it includes
more and more
different tales of people
abandoned in the yore
I am yet to see on the stage
playing volumes challenged by age.

Windia

My country for sure

will win
unlike the yore
she has wings of women
which do not get ripped and endure
they are spread, with a will to fly
high up in the azure sky.

My country for sure
will win
unlike days past
that seemed beyond cure
she has the strength of men
not delinquents, aghast
not weak or juvenile anymore.

My country has women power
in every sphere
women, together
go hand in hand with men
they lead and follow
each other as and when
required; together they stand
for a cause, congenial and mature
they’re working high and low
for my country to win for sure.

Written on the International Women’s day, Friday 08 March 2018

By chance

By chance

come closer

like a lover,

you will receive

a gift

your past, a loser

will leave

worries pass

your heart will beat

your mind dance!

For all this

your will has to move

its stance,

the inertia, it has to give a miss.

Like a lover

for the touch, for the kiss

come closer.

On board

I have lost balance
to survive.
I can no longer bank
on my merits.

I am light.

Despite losing
last drop of love,
I put on record
until far-off breath
as far as
finishing bead of blood.

My zeal to be
lays all the feathers
as cards, on the table
keeps me on board.

Beat

Water to water

one road
where it flows, when it breaks
peu importe
mud to mud
one way
why it cracks, how it supports
peu importe

being maneuvers
different steps

heart to heart
one mind
journeys vary

beliefs
pointlessly claim
crossing paths.

Once upon a time

I live with my memories

broken, bruised, caressed

all mine

once upon a time

even the vain seemed fine.

I have this pain in me now

my lines page
for the sun and the moon
it wonders
what if they'd make love

would other stars approve
or would they war
burn starts to write
a thousand times
same words, same stories
of their making love
in blinking witness…

On my petal
they journey through the mess

of living, loving, leaving

breaking apart,
falling in love and failing

bed-buddies turning guests.

When done
their hearts
replete with tenderness
glowing
released back to another bed
sky
in between them
stands miles of silence.

Recollection of togetherness,
being one
once upon a time
shine
as bygone memories.

Unassuming

I have nothing more to write

to you

on the silver page

but some tears for your eyes

perhaps moistening

letters of reluctant words.

I carry your love

in my broken heart

even though I lose

set off for a lone journey

you think I have keeps

a pot of treasure

with me.

I assume the background

dark sky

for the moon to shine

as the written off story.

We offer to each other

a daily reminder.

I cannot write to you

about you.

Blank

I am losing all sharpness

to win an argument
good riddance.

Children of my world
playing rape-rape game
shoot-shoot game
right in their schools
like hide and seek of the yore
innocuous, pure
the bigger kids must be
heading somewhere
towards progress
with all of them.

Inside
I am listless
I re-read the lines
of the pied piper.

Note:
The poem is in response to children shooting each other, playing rape games in schools.
Reference: The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning

Passage

When you are painting your own verse
do not hold the brush of others
it will distort the image
same colors speak a strange language
canvas will appear distant
bits will mimic
alien speech
not me!
work will screech.

Singing a rehearsed song
can hardly emerge 'you'
with all that is confirmed,
worked, attuned.

You, a stream
falling without wisdom
who it will meet
you, a flower that blooms
without a clue
of time and space
it will please whom
with its color, grace
you, a drop of dew
drowning in the depth of dust
its certain death it can only trust.

Your place may be beneath others
like a blade of forgotten grass
or above the kingdom of clouds
it is you, your text, your own words
dancing in the middle of watching eyes
moving
fall and rise of stars
whispering to you who you are
experiences will surface in time
from the bed of blues breaking into light
expressions
poem of life you write
actions black and white
is all that matters
in what your life offers.


Others might have their ways to recover
through their looks you do not cower
your painting
beyond right or wrong,
path you ceaselessly pass
a river
that cannot take sides
thanks to its banks
immersed in its space
breathing life, its hues
murmur in passing
it's you, it's you.

A fare

Destined lines
like flies
sacrifice their lives
word by word
burn in light
death in the leaves
bounces back to life
quasi-true stories
reflect
in eager eyes