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The Empty ChairThe evening breeze and the extra cup,
A lonely shadow upon the ceiling
And all things “destined” on the up:
Absent from a funeral of feeling.
The cloak of a Sunday in the sun;
Each passing taxi reeks of a plan:
In lieu of nothing, the day is won
Affords to think a better man.
Killing moments, playing tag with the mind:
The first paramour of pagan day;
A second honeymoon of lost fears can find
A love for that familiar blue Bombay.
The erratic world can be rather still:
A man and his betrothed corner of air
A deadbeat verse on a diner bill
Wooing the crevices of the empty chair.
The Sorrow of JoyTill tears bequeath each epoch’s best,
Shelter no bliss in sorrow’s keep;
For wound departs a merry guest,
Fair Sol falls heir to shadows deep.
And mirth in cheer, the laughs of life
As colts of Helios do leap,
Unwary Phaëton’s vaunt in rife
Cannot voyage mid-heaven’s steep.
To crave the everlasting course
Of pleasure’s sunlit, silver sweep,
A golden arc expends its source
As knighted day bows down to sleep.
Laugh gladly, yet in portent laugh
This hour is a downer’s reap,
When time from charm does steal a quaff
Weep gently, for perchance you weep.
The Joy of SorrowWeep gently, for perchance you weep
Cull not the season’s ample rain;
Few ills so slight in sorrows sleep-
-The wise joys in exalting pain.
Weep gently, in passionate silence weep
Bleak tears for form and symmetry,
In nature’s want of balance, weep
And welcome: what must be, must be.
Weep gently, if you have to weep:
Limn crystal woe on a bare face;
What’s lost in loss, in loss do keep
Till Hector is brought home in grace.
Weep gently, weep the mortal’s weep,
Exile old winter from your breast,
Weep gently, in rueful joy do weep,
Till tears bequeath each epoch’s best.
Ode to ChildhoodFree falling carnation, bleed no more!
The cherries of your cheeks your trophies bear;
A jilted summer in amour once bore
The jewels of your eyes, the mirror of your hair;
Afore still floret, revoke that lost spring
When all conception lay in the second;
Recall, reminice your stolen season,
Evoke the world before a fear took wing,
Before a dearth was ever reckoned
And reason was not obliged to reason.
Awake among remembrance the old joys
Of plentyful amidst a world of lack,
When true companions born of dreamer's toys
Would rise from chiffoniers to attack
All the leviathans of the night
Which fed on spectres outside blankets deep
And each sound of nothing enflamed the eyes
Imparting fancy's qualms another flight;
Yet, wicked archfiends in the realm of sleep
Are seraphs in light of tomorrow's lies.
Alas! Pray pine not for those memories cold
Down in the hollows of your weathered soul;
In time, one man's gold is every man's gold
And nature will lend you a clean second scroll;
Furnish it w
Sonnet XXIVMy dearest fiction decorates my days
And plays a succubus to my bound wit,
And as a patron I have seen her plays
Which through my inner eyes do often flit;
Yet I discern their mien untrue for life
Their senseless beauty being can not behold,
Yet who would take sweet reason for a wife
When my betrothed young whims be left untold?
Of all the fancies that alight my muse,
Beloved remain my scruples by far,
And gently through my poetry peruse
To humour my affection for a star.
The final nemesis of humankind
Lies in the furthest reaches of his mind.
Something's MissingI will not miss you like a child misses a blanket
or a year misses a season which has just passed
or as childhood is remembered from furrowed brows;
the parched lips that had once drunk from
the fountain of youth.
nor will I miss you like a widowed lark
that stays up all night believing in
melodic necromancy -
- I do not believe in such things,
as I do not believe in a god I forsook,
when I realized I did not miss him
as I missed the comfort of ignorance,
Nay, I cannot miss you like a poem misses its muse
which miss her till eternity dies
or a juvenile favour that leaves one
benevolent and misses benevolence for all of its days.
Instead I must miss you like an accepted part of every day -
- the ticking of clocks, the buzzing of gadflies,
the first few moments after awakening that misses a dream
or the Korean vase upon the chiffonier
which misses last week's dahlias
or the street dog misses its late keeper-of-crumbs
or an ink quill misses the words it bore
or a poet m
Sonnet XXIIIThese weeks are like our days and nights
Which stars mistake for fireflies;
Yet they would chance a million flights
To 'scape the fever of your eyes;
But I am captive to each call;
Through every glare and every glance,
I see forlorness rolls the ball
And plans all that we leave to chance.
We plant that syndrome in our souls
To rid our thoughts of vagrancy,
Adopting each of fancy's foals
To choose hearth over vacancy.
So man would rather Eden leave
Than walk away from libelled Eve.
First BlushThe lordly light disrobes the gentle dark,
In moments bare, swift shorn of drowsy dawn;
The nightly lark revives the quav'ring barque;
Awake the swain, awake the sailing swan.
Ten thousand stars bid their earthly farewells,
Ten thousand lamps succumb to spirit clouds
And life begins a song of dancing bells
And then exhumes the tomb of sable shrouds.
And cod and carp arouse the river run
And kite and tern renew the skies asleep
And man turns down his dreams to please the sun
And scars burn bright to make his conscience weep.
OfficesHow bored were we to invent work?
Ironically its colder around ironed shirts
And you'd expect a touch of grease in polished shoes.
Someone's always having a baby, that's the talk;
How goes your morning? How is that heart?
Lets go have that first cup of coffee.
The economy would fall without Kottayam coffee:
Bitter brown liquid life of work;
No dipping tea bags in the cup of your heart
While you brush nothing off the cuff of your shirt
She's the new Indira Gandhi - so they talk,
As you look for the weekend in the soles of your shoes.
Always polish your Rockport shoes.
And breathe, drink, eat, screw cotta coffee.
And pay attention to the undertone, the talk;
It'll get you promoted, not your work;
Even if you had faxed your loyal heart
To this project, before you were a shirt.
It must be professional to tuck in your shirt
And spend your weekends polishing your shoes
And in your glovebox leave your typeset heart
Which once loved other things besides coffee.
You're one of the lucky o
The wonders of the world are at my feet,
creation's endless charity.
Golden sun above, it's warmth makes life sweet,
night stars help me gain clarity
... and yet I am alone.
Roses and daisies and buttercups too,
green grass and blue sky above me.
Mountains and valleys and geysers that spew,
ocean as far as my eye can see
... and yet I am alone.
New moon above and Milky Way heavens,
lights that inspire poetry.
Bright shooting stars and Northern lights events,
cosmic dance of life surrounds me
... and yet I am alone.
I hold this truth to be above all truth,
that what we need most, is love.
The absence of love makes earthly joys moot,
what I would give... to fit hand in glove
... and never, ever, again be alone.
*The Cathedral*Graveyard sparkles, coat of frost
Souls sleep in comfort none are lost
Yew trees stand's silent friend
Up the pathway faithful wend.
Illuminated Christmas star
Penitants travel from afar
Spiritual comfort, blessed peace
Worldly concerns find release
Stained glass window does inspire
Glorious colours flame desire
Insence smells and bells so pure
Winter Cathderal, open door.
FOR THE LOST CHILDI am a man who is lost in a child
And my child he never grew
His spirit within, my mother defiled
Turning his soul black and blue.
The years have passed, the summers fade
Still my torment it rages on
This man I am, cold and afraid
Hides from the waking dawn.
My little child is locked inside
Vowing to never come out
This poor little boy, he thinks he died
Existing in shadow and doubt.
I love him, this child inside of me
Yet no matter how hard I try
He will never know what it means to be free
Until that day when I die.
It is I who bears his lasting pain
Yes, ‘tis I that must tarry and wait
Sometimes I think that my life was in vain
As I sit here and ponder my fate.
My mother’s been dead for quite some time
As Cancer accomplished its goal
Below the earth, she rests from her crime
With the little boys heart that she stole.
I see him each day in the mirror
This albatross that I must wear
Bringing me ever nearer
To the end of this life we have shared.
God has set the path I must
ArmsThese are a set of arms that I have not met
They have not held a true love yet
They were so small and thin at first
Never were they close to being cursed
They are stronger than I used to know
I had never expected them to grow
To my dismay, these arms are also scarred
There was no one to be your guard
Despite that, your arms are never cold
I rather love your arms, truth be told
They may have been once forsaken
Maybe even quite a bit shaken
Yet, here you are, arms wide open
showing all of your great devotion
displaying all of your deep love
Never again will their emptiness be spoken of
For I will be the one to hold you
My arms have done some growing too
Never again will they be rejected or harmed
I promise, in my arms, you will go unharmed.
Always Observe the Sanguine Viewstars dancing on the open edge
where eyes that see her glow
are watching from the window ledge
and think of how she's grown
her father's eyes, so grey and blue.
she takes the sprawling earth in through
her father's eyes
her father's eyes
always observe the sanguine view
they had another treasure too
now lost in memory
her father's eyes so grey and blue
once filled with energy
her mother's smile, so full and wide.
a dawning sun and a delight
her mother's smile
her mother's smile
did sweetly swell and then subside
this weathered soul whose heart was tied
could never say goodbyes
her mother's smile, it came untied
yet still her father's eyes
are watching from the window ledge.
stars dancing on the open edge
are watching from
are watching from
a sky that always keeps its pledge.
The Sonnet of WarThough fires crackle bright and bullets soar
I cower in the twilight dark of fear.
I hear the baying of the monster War
and tremble as its monstrous form draws near.
The wicked monster has no charity
its sole is smithed of fire and of hate.
It slaughters men indiscriminately
this heartless, soulless, wicked child of Fate.
Though I may flee it, I cannot outrun,
for it has claimed my people’s hearts and souls.
Smoke spews forth from the barrel of the gun,
yet they sit and watch, their hearts grown cold.
It scorched my soul, and burned my hope away
so in this darkness I shall hope to stay.
Let air sate you,
soak through your emptiness.
Fill your being with oxygen and
Do not let you
lose this. Life is not easy here,
and you deserve better, but stay:
To Everyone I've Ever Thought I Loved To Everyone I've Ever Thought I Loved
1. I was young and quite stupid.
You were attractive
and way, way out of my league.
2. Your influence changed my life
and i think i might
just still love you for that fact.
3. I'm not quite sure what it was
about you. Maybe
your taste in bands... or your hair.
4. You were a dick... I knew that.
But for some reason
I still went there anyway.
5. Times were hectic and you broke
my heart. But it's not
like i did much to stop you.
6. You were my biggest secret.
If only i knew
Back then that you liked girls too.
7. You were the first to love me.
One and a half years
This DiwaliIt'll be rather quiet this Diwali,
A dark festival of lights,
And in that darkness I'll reminice
At least light a diya they said,
For this year's Diwali,
But fire alarms hate festivities
And would not let them be.
There will be no family this year
Just pixels on a screen,
And no sweets will sweeten this Diwali,
And no Sherwanis to dry clean.
The clouds will keep their peace tonight,
The skies immune to plea,
Just a lightning bolt? A clap of thunder?
None for my De-wali.
Dear fairy light friend I must admit
I have no diyas for thee,
All I have are stars 'neath the alien sky:
Diyas for you and me.
LithiumA single trickling rain drop
Like gossamer silk strands
Gliding along my third eye
Whispers wind's secret caress
I exhale. Lungs releasing-
Pressing translucent memories;
Fragment of a fragment
As water kisses rose petal,
Drifting down stream's curtain
Pretty little curtain.
Where the wizard lies.
He smiles up at me
With his monocled brow-
Sipping on warm tea
And fingers quacking casually
To the rhythm of his notes
This is a safe-zone. Free-zone.
Innocent eyes sparkle,
Imploring it to be true. I breathe.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More