flamingbird - Hello Poetry

interlocked eyes our spirits once interwoven intertwined minds collide coalesce divide no longer remaining at my side a trace of light amidst my darkest skies dimmed to a forlorn hue the warm touch of the artifice subdued no longer blind to the truth thank you once revered companion purity of your heart mere illusion mere farce

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Mar 15, 2016

Mar 15, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC

flamingbird

20 lines for lost ties

interlocked eyes our spirits once interwoven intertwined minds collide coalesce divide no longer remaining at my side a trace of light amidst my darkest skies dimmed to a forlorn hue the warm touch of the artifice subdued no longer blind to the truth thank you once revered companion purity of your heart mere illusion mere farce

20

In the height of summer The pond shrunk to a hyacinth heart. The kingfishers left for crystal streams Village belles no more washed their hidden shames Kids broke their frolics on her kissing splashes And men dipped not in her to whisper secrets. She prayed to hold through all the pains. The sky heard her and sent her rains.

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flamingbird

Aug 19, 2015

Aug 19, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC

pradip-chattopadhyay

The Hyacinth Heart

In the height of summer The pond shrunk to a hyacinth heart. The kingfishers left for crystal streams Village belles no more washed their hidden shames Kids broke their frolics on her kissing splashes And men dipped not in her to whisper secrets. She prayed to hold through all the pains. The sky heard her and sent her rains.

8

Now you lay beneath my feet, Wilted petals covering the ground I write this ode to you, Intangible lover, We remain kindred spirits Separated by the boundless sky I remember the day, The overcasted sky, That phone call. Trembling knees giving way to uncontrollable tears. No more conversations to be had, No more laughs to be shared. That day you left me, I couldn’t even say goodbye. Those wild, untamed curls, Oh how they’d always tickle my face Tickling my heart. When I was with you, Time froze to a standstill. Gleaming effervescence, Scintillating demeanor, I thank you for being you. For helping me to smile again. Memories of you I cherish. The first time we met, The first time we kissed, The first time I cried over you, For I miss the firsts, the seconds, the thirds, Longing to relive those moments. They’re all I have left, Photographs never to suffice.

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Apr 29, 2015

Apr 29, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC

flamingbird

Ode to the Lost Lover

Now you lay beneath my feet, Wilted petals covering the ground I write this ode to you, Intangible lover, We remain kindred spirits Separated by the boundless sky I remember the day, The overcasted sky, That phone call. Trembling knees giving way to uncontrollable tears. No more conversations to be had, No more laughs to be shared. That day you left me, I couldn’t even say goodbye. Those wild, untamed curls, Oh how they’d always tickle my face Tickling my heart. When I was with you, Time froze to a standstill. Gleaming effervescence, Scintillating demeanor, I thank you for being you. For helping me to smile again. Memories of you I cherish. The first time we met, The first time we kissed, The first time I cried over you, For I miss the firsts, the seconds, the thirds, Longing to relive those moments. They’re all I have left, Photographs never to suffice.

31

perpetual expeditions amidst this hazy twilight, periwinkled vistas ensnaring me in buzzzzzzzzzzzz the sound penetrates my ear drum black and yellow rabble-rouser this rambunctious little menace a pomegranate eternally ripe, giving me life gilled, scaled, underwater creature emerging from the deep, boundless rift two tantalizing tigers troublesome, treacherous and she laid there— undisturbed, unaware jabbed in her side by a M1903 Springfield soothed state rattled, shattered wincing from the poke of the blunt end of the gun the sleeping lady slept no more poor fellows, how were they supposed to hold on to it without opposable thumbs? the distressed damsel appeared grotesque, flailing and fidgeting at the sight of her surroundings surface rocking beneath my feat, my trusty elephant’s weak ankles shattering my already shattered stability i had no more time for such nonsenses buzzing sounds burned deep into my psyche the soft-spoken horizon called out to me calling for me to continue on into the enigmatic expanse

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Apr 29, 2015

Apr 29, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC

flamingbird

Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bumblebee around a Pomegranate a Second Before Awakening

perpetual expeditions amidst this hazy twilight, periwinkled vistas ensnaring me in buzzzzzzzzzzzz the sound penetrates my ear drum black and yellow rabble-rouser this rambunctious little menace a pomegranate eternally ripe, giving me life gilled, scaled, underwater creature emerging from the deep, boundless rift two tantalizing tigers troublesome, treacherous and she laid there— undisturbed, unaware jabbed in her side by a M1903 Springfield soothed state rattled, shattered wincing from the poke of the blunt end of the gun the sleeping lady slept no more poor fellows, how were they supposed to hold on to it without opposable thumbs? the distressed damsel appeared grotesque, flailing and fidgeting at the sight of her surroundings surface rocking beneath my feat, my trusty elephant’s weak ankles shattering my already shattered stability i had no more time for such nonsenses buzzing sounds burned deep into my psyche the soft-spoken horizon called out to me calling for me to continue on into the enigmatic expanse

29

She stepped outside for some fresh air, the sky above fading into dusty twilight The tender breeze caressed her skin, heady aromas of springtime filling her lungs with every inhale. The winter was long, the winter was treacherous, It had betrayed her. But with the return of those cherry blossom trees she was almost able to smile again. Almost. Pink tinged petals falling from the trees, Their company reminds her of him. For it was her first time seeing them without him, The allure of the new spring was not as it used to be. Forever young, forever engrained in her existence. His spirit lingered, drawn to the sounds of her broken heart Wandering through the depths of her own despair, her callous heart made soft by flowing tears. She remembers him as he was in the spring, Its essence as sweet as her memories of him

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Feb 19, 2015

Feb 19, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC

flamingbird

Alone

She stepped outside for some fresh air, the sky above fading into dusty twilight The tender breeze caressed her skin, heady aromas of springtime filling her lungs with every inhale. The winter was long, the winter was treacherous, It had betrayed her. But with the return of those cherry blossom trees she was almost able to smile again. Almost. Pink tinged petals falling from the trees, Their company reminds her of him. For it was her first time seeing them without him, The allure of the new spring was not as it used to be. Forever young, forever engrained in her existence. His spirit lingered, drawn to the sounds of her broken heart Wandering through the depths of her own despair, her callous heart made soft by flowing tears. She remembers him as he was in the spring, Its essence as sweet as her memories of him

18

I am lost in my own germination. I miss the innocence of adolescence, I miss the days of being a seed. Nostalgia stemming from maltreatment, roots of disdain running deeper and deeper as they absorb the negativity of my surroundings. The sadistic nature of being has instilled terror in my heart, a terror of the future— for I’m not ready for my contempt of existence to flower. I preferred being a seed. As I blossom, I grow consumed by feelings of self-doubt, tears falling, like petals in the springtime, Will I survive the winter? I preferred being a seed. The strong winds of life rip me up by the roots. I am slowly wilting and withering away as days pass, unaware of when I will be trampled underfoot. I remember the days of being a seed. For remaining a seed would have been easier than blossoming in a world slowly and aggressively plucking my petals. I am nearly barren.

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Feb 4, 2015

Feb 4, 2015 at 11:01 AM UTC

flamingbird

Budding Existentialism

I am lost in my own germination. I miss the innocence of adolescence, I miss the days of being a seed. Nostalgia stemming from maltreatment, roots of disdain running deeper and deeper as they absorb the negativity of my surroundings. The sadistic nature of being has instilled terror in my heart, a terror of the future— for I’m not ready for my contempt of existence to flower. I preferred being a seed. As I blossom, I grow consumed by feelings of self-doubt, tears falling, like petals in the springtime, Will I survive the winter? I preferred being a seed. The strong winds of life rip me up by the roots. I am slowly wilting and withering away as days pass, unaware of when I will be trampled underfoot. I remember the days of being a seed. For remaining a seed would have been easier than blossoming in a world slowly and aggressively plucking my petals. I am nearly barren.

21