Karishma Feb 20
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The sylvan paths are empty
Oriental winds no longer sing
Cosmos flowers bend their heads
At the loss of something that's never been

We hold sunset in our teacups
Swallowing bittersweet loneliness
Until it streams out through our eyes
And forms clouds of heartfelt longing

Rain gushes down the valley
The sky bells are heard no more
As all that speaks is the silence
And the heart's downpour

Poetry's soul is never damaged
So on echoes your evensong
Dancing sky lanterns hold vigil
Through the dark night of the soul

Emerald skies sigh softly
I walk alone - with you - in thoughts
And sing of light unto the breeze
Stringing it with love, hoping it carries 

  Feb 15 Karishma
Jamadhi Verse

Something is hardening within me,
causing a bitterness,
a dissonance between
who I am and who I seem.
There is something unseen
lingering in the nerves of me,
taunting from painful memory.
It ultimately goes against my heart --
picking at my wounds until I fall apart.
Scrambling, I am almost vanishing
from the intense empathy
that sits abundantly within me.
It is a most tender, grievous seed
that forever flutters and ruptures
deep inside of me from the slightest bit of pain.
I rearrange myself into another’s shoes
and feel the sadness that they’ve accrued,
until it is no longer me that moves
through these fragile, mortal veins
and I can no longer feel the same.
I build strong, defensive walls
to stop from feeling this way.

I blame my past for how it made me bleed,
making me feel as if I cannot breathe
another sigh of aching sorrow.
I shroud myself in endless tomorrows,
weakening beneath the strength of today.
And when I feel heartache and need
squeezing through the sensitive pieces of me
I clutch them tighter so that no one can see,
not wishing to feel too acutely.
I hide senselessly the depth of my sensitivity --
which rolls inside of me endlessly, in complete discord
as if I can no longer afford the price of an open heart,
as if the wealth of myself could one day start
to suddenly seem cheap in truth.

What to do when your soul is innately kind,
but at times the only things that you find
streaming from your lips are soulless scripts
of detached and cryptic cynicism?
What if in order to run from the intensity of feeling
you tie tight knots deep within your being
to stop the feeding of your lifelines
from saving anyone else,
because you’re too afraid you’d lose yourself?
What if you never allowed yourself to use the gifts
that were born within you to soothe the rifts
that fissure through people's lives
in these most desperate times?
What if you never even tried?
What if your ultimate sacrifice dies,
deep inside,
only known to your silence?

J.M. 2016

I have a sense of empathy so intense it harms me. If I sit too closely with life and it’s realities I grieve so deep it’s as if I will never feel light again. I hurt with the pain of every person and animal in such a way that I lose myself and my joy when opening to their sorrows and I can’t switch it off. It eventually makes me physically ill from the levels of stress. So I build walls to keep it out at times, even dividing and distancing me from those that I love. The walls only alienate me from my true nature. Deep in me, DEEP in me like a root, I sense a larger purpose for my life. I sense an ability to give and to help those who are helpless. I sense the potential to give what I know of my life to change someone’s world. And I know, I absolutely know it would change and heal mine. It is the purpose of mine. And yet I am so afraid to act. I am afraid of the permeating pain of connecting and embracing head-on, the suffering in life. I am so afraid to look deep into the eyes of a living being who has broken and feel it in turn further break me. I am so afraid to shine my light in case there is too much night for its warmth to pierce through. I am afraid that in the giving endlessly I will completely wear down what is me. And thus, in trepidation of my calling to be selfless, I have become selfish. But, I must "die before I die and realize there is no death.” Perhaps when I stop resisting and dreading the being broken and instead allow it completely, I will find myself whole and have so much more to give to others.
  Feb 13 Karishma
David Hewitt

There’s a crooked picture on my wall
It needs straightening
Up on the right, a little
Or
Down on the left, a little
If I tilt my head
It looks ok
If I squint
It looks ok
I could straighten it
You could straighten it
But it hasn’t bothered us
For all these years
We still view the same painting
Just from different angles

Not aloud to move much, doctors orders. Said nothing about my fingers though.........
  Feb 9 Karishma
PoetryJournal

When beautiful within
you don't judge beauty
from the surface.

  Feb 4 Karishma
PoetryJournal

ALONE
in the company of
many.

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