When to augustine skies I stare,
Mine eyes are willingly led astray,
When so constant stays the burning blaze,
How can I behold him in single gaze?
In little pools, in and around,
Are strewn sprightly blooms, and some do crowd,
Pansies nurtured and then caressed,
Bursting to a selfless touch.
Yonder upon the seven seas,
He sprinkles a shimmer I cannot see,
But I can close mine eyes and feel,
Little trinkets upon my palm he leaves.
The sun, of mysterious alchemy,
Spilling forth rubies of twilight charm,
Painted yellow at other times,
So many palettes, yet so much warmth.
When the world he does illuminate,
The febrile nights of shadow and horror find and end,
In patience, the mortals await,
To then be rewarded.
The magnitude of his influence, I cannot clasp,
And claim for mine ,nay, it shan’t be so,
For he rests in the calm of a heavenly abode,
And would burn me, if I stepped too close.
A thousand eras does he span,
Providing for thousands more, a thousand lives,
But even as equal, every one of them he regards,
The fancy trinkets glimmer now; nabbed in single fist, he may belong...
3 am. 9th of August.
Heedless
On bare boughs, sparse leaves among,
Barren winds ran amok,
Many a tuneless ballad was sung,
As on moved a heedless heart.
Familiar like the place of birth,
Which the old nostalgically recollect,
Splendid moments, the times of yore,
Hemmed together on weather beaten paths.
The damp grandeur of monsoon calling forth
An exuberant cherub in consciousness encased,
Simple dreams and a simple lore,
Of a simpler love, even more.
Wasted scores weary violins play,
Starry nights, overshadowed,
Oppressed as in the unappreciable heat of May,
Useless as glorious souvenirs, showcased.
Aha, but wondrous opportunities does a derived wisdom profess,
Happiness in the hinterlands,
Surviving blooms on virginal snow,
Sanity to the confounded.
On reviving nectar, a greedy infant feeds,
On radiant a face lingers smile, puerile,
Skipping past to the sweeter childhood days, cradled
By the ones she holds dear but heedless, otherwise.
Here be joy, here be contentment,
Spring from wintry boughs do sprout,
Daffodils of liquid gold on rolling pastures spread,
Stolen peace exultantly does pervade,
Sinister cobwebs wisped away by sunshine, light-hearted
Merry innocence romps ahead,
Heedless now and unaware.
3:48 am, 31st of July.
Barren winds ran amok,
Many a tuneless ballad was sung,
As on moved a heedless heart.
Familiar like the place of birth,
Which the old nostalgically recollect,
Splendid moments, the times of yore,
Hemmed together on weather beaten paths.
The damp grandeur of monsoon calling forth
An exuberant cherub in consciousness encased,
Simple dreams and a simple lore,
Of a simpler love, even more.
Wasted scores weary violins play,
Starry nights, overshadowed,
Oppressed as in the unappreciable heat of May,
Useless as glorious souvenirs, showcased.
Aha, but wondrous opportunities does a derived wisdom profess,
Happiness in the hinterlands,
Surviving blooms on virginal snow,
Sanity to the confounded.
On reviving nectar, a greedy infant feeds,
On radiant a face lingers smile, puerile,
Skipping past to the sweeter childhood days, cradled
By the ones she holds dear but heedless, otherwise.
Here be joy, here be contentment,
Spring from wintry boughs do sprout,
Daffodils of liquid gold on rolling pastures spread,
Stolen peace exultantly does pervade,
Sinister cobwebs wisped away by sunshine, light-hearted
Merry innocence romps ahead,
Heedless now and unaware.
3:48 am, 31st of July.
Grateful
Together they strum, like men to paddle, co-ordinated, unbroken,
Like beads, threaded together, taut strings, stretched,
Fresh binding off the printing press,
Fluid enchantment that the waves possess.
The times of the orange sun and monsoon rain,
The seasons pass, swift in change,
Murky clouds of listless days,
Hang morose over sheltered bays.
A split, a break, an enormous crack,
Through shallow months, resounding back,
In exactness they wickedly invoke,
Insecurity in rooted silver oak.
A powerless surrender, scribbled in good faith,
In destiny’s grand book, on a very last page,
Confessions, sincere, even faithful frankness,
Didn’t bring home sympathetic reply, dutifully expected.
Harrowed, unstable, a gradual wither,
Venom to vein, a clever slither,
Fanged apparition flying here,
Tumbling in general disarray, vague yet clear.
Inquiry finding no retort,
No words, and no rewards,
Endurance tested and patience stabbed,
Finally to another flies burdened voice.
Threatening to flood, to overwhelm,
Is a baffling insanity, a cold dread,
But intelligent is beaver, a dam he builds,
A sanctuary of protected happiness, from nothing.
He pulls at painful debris, useless before,
Pads it together with expert skill, stability restores,
Doing kindness, in soft words and treats,
Mended is spirit, more than slightly.
Thankful eyes skim thrice,
At messages, multiple, saintly wise,
Searching eyes swallowed by raven night,
Meet compassion's gaze....... and beautifully cry.
Insomnia at 4:41 am.
July 8th.
Like beads, threaded together, taut strings, stretched,
Fresh binding off the printing press,
Fluid enchantment that the waves possess.
The times of the orange sun and monsoon rain,
The seasons pass, swift in change,
Murky clouds of listless days,
Hang morose over sheltered bays.
A split, a break, an enormous crack,
Through shallow months, resounding back,
In exactness they wickedly invoke,
Insecurity in rooted silver oak.
A powerless surrender, scribbled in good faith,
In destiny’s grand book, on a very last page,
Confessions, sincere, even faithful frankness,
Didn’t bring home sympathetic reply, dutifully expected.
Harrowed, unstable, a gradual wither,
Venom to vein, a clever slither,
Fanged apparition flying here,
Tumbling in general disarray, vague yet clear.
Inquiry finding no retort,
No words, and no rewards,
Endurance tested and patience stabbed,
Finally to another flies burdened voice.
Threatening to flood, to overwhelm,
Is a baffling insanity, a cold dread,
But intelligent is beaver, a dam he builds,
A sanctuary of protected happiness, from nothing.
He pulls at painful debris, useless before,
Pads it together with expert skill, stability restores,
Doing kindness, in soft words and treats,
Mended is spirit, more than slightly.
Thankful eyes skim thrice,
At messages, multiple, saintly wise,
Searching eyes swallowed by raven night,
Meet compassion's gaze....... and beautifully cry.
Insomnia at 4:41 am.
July 8th.
With you, I am me.
When integrity questions, lies hide,
A coward’s mistakes, unfairly,
But to you, there is beautiful truth,
With you, I am me.
When grief swallows, in whirlpool of thought,
A bold pretense of happiness I play,
But on your shoulder, that weakness is crying,
With you, I am me.
To everybody, I try to make sense,
Such respectful dignity in speech,
But I lose all that, unbelievably,
With you, I am me.
False notions, and empty pride,
Gloating gossip and some more wine,
But you deem that unnecessary,
With you, I am me.
To distant friends, when i speak,
Concealed is all insecurity,
But I tell you, nice and neat,
With you, I am me.
They know me not, so they think,
She’s such a vulnerable, shaky thing,
But you know how my playful moods charge and swing,
With you, I am me.
I tell them stories, I justify,
Actions, and appear so polite,
But you’re aware of my goofy side,
With you, I am me.
Draped in thought, I cannot see,
When stress builds up, I suffer and writhe,
But like hot cocoa, you restore warmth,
With you, I am me.
Careless, uncouth and senseless,
Big-mouthed, genuine, funny,
Affectionate, unconfined, fearless,
With you, I am me.
The Midnight of 28th.
A coward’s mistakes, unfairly,
But to you, there is beautiful truth,
With you, I am me.
When grief swallows, in whirlpool of thought,
A bold pretense of happiness I play,
But on your shoulder, that weakness is crying,
With you, I am me.
To everybody, I try to make sense,
Such respectful dignity in speech,
But I lose all that, unbelievably,
With you, I am me.
False notions, and empty pride,
Gloating gossip and some more wine,
But you deem that unnecessary,
With you, I am me.
To distant friends, when i speak,
Concealed is all insecurity,
But I tell you, nice and neat,
With you, I am me.
They know me not, so they think,
She’s such a vulnerable, shaky thing,
But you know how my playful moods charge and swing,
With you, I am me.
I tell them stories, I justify,
Actions, and appear so polite,
But you’re aware of my goofy side,
With you, I am me.
Draped in thought, I cannot see,
When stress builds up, I suffer and writhe,
But like hot cocoa, you restore warmth,
With you, I am me.
Careless, uncouth and senseless,
Big-mouthed, genuine, funny,
Affectionate, unconfined, fearless,
With you, I am me.
The Midnight of 28th.
Stolen
Stolen from deep repose,
Happily depraved vision gazes,
At midnight charm though cold panes,
And at young love, through ancient casement.
For tis is pleasantly uncommon, the cheetah stealth,
Which hunts a willing prey,
With erratic grandeur,
Disturbing the stillness.
For in this surreptitious watch,
There is no reason,
Lost meaning shares no ground,
With wicked infatuation’s untimely construction.
For she now remembers,
How his laughter rescued,
Unbelievably herself with him,
She is not afraid to be who she is.
For when they tried, and when they failed,
It had stung deep, but then again,
Age is sly, so allow her to teach,
Don’t be victim, to inconsistency.
Aha, she is well aware, responsible is the intellect,
But midnight dreams firmly discard,
Anything that the rationale had sought.
The warm night holds her in embrace,
Crafting another impossibility,
He tempts a stupid heart, and a chortle escapes,
Before beauty sleeps, forgetting reverie….
Midnight.
Happily depraved vision gazes,
At midnight charm though cold panes,
And at young love, through ancient casement.
For tis is pleasantly uncommon, the cheetah stealth,
Which hunts a willing prey,
With erratic grandeur,
Disturbing the stillness.
For in this surreptitious watch,
There is no reason,
Lost meaning shares no ground,
With wicked infatuation’s untimely construction.
For she now remembers,
How his laughter rescued,
Unbelievably herself with him,
She is not afraid to be who she is.
For when they tried, and when they failed,
It had stung deep, but then again,
Age is sly, so allow her to teach,
Don’t be victim, to inconsistency.
Aha, she is well aware, responsible is the intellect,
But midnight dreams firmly discard,
Anything that the rationale had sought.
The warm night holds her in embrace,
Crafting another impossibility,
He tempts a stupid heart, and a chortle escapes,
Before beauty sleeps, forgetting reverie….
Midnight.
Untamed
Should I tame thought,
Which winds about,
Within my head, without
Restrain on things of that sort?
When possibility tempts,
Refreshing, new,
Bind them in iron shackles,
Bowing to eclectic wisdom, Cruel.
Untamed, it presents delicious chimera,
Irresistibly haunting,
Fond, delicate, pleasing.
And then, extinguished.
Mellow, casual, still,
Just the way it was meant to be,
But when untamed,
Distorted is reality.
Unforeseen,
A searing scar from a while past,
Healed, in unexpected manner.
The heal, a reiki,
Splendid intoxication, cleansing,
Forgetting, slipping, slackening,
But tenderly retaining.
But when untamed thought prances,
In convoluted lawns of a philosopher’s mind,
Playing with the heartstrings,
explodes such vital energy!!!
Tame thy thought, dear, tame her now,
The wild horse in you, the spirited one,
Says the voice of experience, so understanding,
But will the naughty mare, ever lend an ear?
midnight.
Which winds about,
Within my head, without
Restrain on things of that sort?
When possibility tempts,
Refreshing, new,
Bind them in iron shackles,
Bowing to eclectic wisdom, Cruel.
Untamed, it presents delicious chimera,
Irresistibly haunting,
Fond, delicate, pleasing.
And then, extinguished.
Mellow, casual, still,
Just the way it was meant to be,
But when untamed,
Distorted is reality.
Unforeseen,
A searing scar from a while past,
Healed, in unexpected manner.
The heal, a reiki,
Splendid intoxication, cleansing,
Forgetting, slipping, slackening,
But tenderly retaining.
But when untamed thought prances,
In convoluted lawns of a philosopher’s mind,
Playing with the heartstrings,
explodes such vital energy!!!
Tame thy thought, dear, tame her now,
The wild horse in you, the spirited one,
Says the voice of experience, so understanding,
But will the naughty mare, ever lend an ear?
midnight.
Like Soft Cotton
Like Soft cotton, shredded,
Fabric, weather-beaten, careless,
Still very responsible somewhere, I suspect.
A little child, innocent at heart,
Tremulous to trivial circumstance,
Feeling, richly vivid, protected,
Behind humor, effortless.
Growing up, ever so slow,
Bearing the brunt, nudging,
The other one,
Sharing, only a little, but your stories are so tall.
Clutching the reins, is able an hand,
Every debacle, every roadbreak,dealt
With, so straight-forward, so level,
Balanced, poised for perfection.
Systematic disciplinarian,
Other times, so jovial,
Sentences compete.
Such a thinker, seldom seen.
Into the quilt, a new fabric has been stitched,
The one that was shredded, a new personality,
Honest precision to the needle, it is working,
To stitch into the fabric of life, to fit in.
Torn apart,
From fabric, from consciousness,
A bit of quilt, lost,
Missing,
but stitched back in.......
11:43 pm, 27th May, 2010.
Fabric, weather-beaten, careless,
Still very responsible somewhere, I suspect.
A little child, innocent at heart,
Tremulous to trivial circumstance,
Feeling, richly vivid, protected,
Behind humor, effortless.
Growing up, ever so slow,
Bearing the brunt, nudging,
The other one,
Sharing, only a little, but your stories are so tall.
Clutching the reins, is able an hand,
Every debacle, every roadbreak,dealt
With, so straight-forward, so level,
Balanced, poised for perfection.
Systematic disciplinarian,
Other times, so jovial,
Sentences compete.
Such a thinker, seldom seen.
Into the quilt, a new fabric has been stitched,
The one that was shredded, a new personality,
Honest precision to the needle, it is working,
To stitch into the fabric of life, to fit in.
Torn apart,
From fabric, from consciousness,
A bit of quilt, lost,
Missing,
but stitched back in.......
11:43 pm, 27th May, 2010.
Singing Along
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About Me
- Shadow
- ""Beauty is truth, truth beauty," – that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know..." said Keats. That, is the essence to the songbird's poetry. Welcome to my perch!