The Ragged Poet: Poems

Apr 2019 · 195

The Ragged Poet Apr 2019

I see their silhouettes
Melt far into the horizon.
Their untimely dance
Knows no bounds,
No digresses
Continuing forward
With no pauses.

The nymphs have departed
And their feet do not hurt
Nor do they ever stop.
They walk right through me
Like the season’s of a year,

Like yesterday’s trees
That are naked today
With a shivering hope
For tomorrow’s new embrace.

Shadows loom amidst silences
Drenched with fever and sweat.
Stupefying moments of unbeing
Confirm impotency’s pending threat.

The nymphs have departed,
But their laughter malingers
As it creeps through tiny holes
And then the ears of some wretched

Like me, feigning to sleep,
While a bustling pageantry on the street
Slithers across from under my feet.
It’s almost nine, now I must set my eyes to weep.

Mar 2019 · 168

Lamentations of a sour whisky drinker

The Ragged Poet Mar 2019

Lamentations of a sour whisky drinker

On nascent evenings
I find myself alone
My head up against an empty wall
While the weight of my mind is destined to fall
Or collapse into a billion pieces.
Luckily, I am not afraid of multiplicities.

Speech becomes paradox, sight remains illusory.
My bones feel cold, my skin burns with fever.
Forever burning, burning, burning

Each second is infernal,
Each alley enlaced in embers.
This burning makes me wander.
I wander wildly taking my neuroses by the hand
I follow blindly, always unsure where I am going.
And the face that I wear leaves no trace for showing.

Evening masks
Descend upon faces
Staring at the sky being brewed,
So blank and embittered
By the countless cups of coffee they drank.
It’s always too warm to take a sip,
So I sit back
I wait as the sky turns deeper,
As it drains pools of dark and rancid liquid,
Foaming at the sky’s mouth, eventually swallowing the sun.
Though the day has ended, the coffee settled too,
My mouth still feels dry and is unable to consume.

The night descends by giving directions
Through darkness. And colored lights
Join the cadence, so does the wind.
It is happening all around me,
But I cannot cut through
And I cannot simply join in.
My eyes are mere spectators
Since sight is all that they have.
And now the sky is melancholic,
So may the drinking begin.

I shall drink the pools that float above me,
I shall scorn at fools who try to teach me,
I shall hate and have hatred guide me,

Until I fall and the ground slaps me
On my smug face,
Until my senses seep into the ground,
And I am left expressionless.

Invisibility is a gift seldom appreciated
The comforts bestowed in darkness are unnumbered.
Too many to count, too many to list out loud.
It matters no more that I am human,
For I am not. I feel nothing, nothing at all.

Mar 2019 · 138

Drowning in Blues

The Ragged Poet Mar 2019

Drowning in Blues

Some jazz helps
My eyes see
Focus waver
With such ease.
Some coffee helps
My mind continue
Brooding
Along wayward paths,
Striding
Across evenings, nights,
And Mornings–
Swinging past,
While my torpid head
Lusts over
Something faceless,
Something trapped within
Some facade.

Some leaves rustle
Lifelessly,
Heard along dark alleys,
Hardened in the cold,
Robbed of all tenderness,
A trail of death syncopates
A trilling percussion.
A beat is born,
From the dead leaves
Beneath my feet.

Some magical key
Is held in the air,
Serenading the glowing heads
On scattered street-lamps,
Illuminating the very things
Nature tries to conceal.
Suspended and suspending,
No room for surprise.
Some strange piano-man,
Somewhere,
Plays an eternal reprise.
Latescence looms
Egregiously
In the air
That I breathe.

Feb 2019 · 265

My nerves feel bad today

The Ragged Poet Feb 2019

My nerves feel bad today

Glimpses of your face keep
Weighing down my thoughts
Of forgetting you
They have turned into an impossibility.

Strange inclinations of remembering your name
Fester vehemently,
Every second of each day
I am simply appalled, entirely perplexed,
Who knew silences entailed such unendurable chaos?

Silences speak a strange language.
Learning how to speak them must truly be an art.
But the silence which brought us together
Shall only tear us apart.

I know not why I feel
The need to shatter its symphony
By pouring out these frivolous words.
I surrendered rationality long ago–
Along with categorical and critical thought–
Never yielding,
Never satiating–

My mind was always estranged.
Each book read out
My estrangement from this world.
My estrangement was inescapable,
So instead I tried escaping lucidity
By calling upon my distractions.
They came to rescue me,
They did try to make me forget,
But I was unaware of what I was forgetting.

Vividly, will I remember
Waiting for you.
Waiting for truth,
Waiting eternally.

Every promise contains a betrayal.
So I await,
Most afraid
Of being betrayed,
Helplessly perplexed,
Constantly questioning.
Can I turn off all the lights
Once and for all?
Can I plunge into a well of darkness?

My thoughts turn sour
In the bleakness of the air,
And winds that push me
Tell me to start over again.
But there can be no start
For the unfinished and undone.
Only an endless waiting
For you,
Forever,
With no end.

Mar 2018 · 196

Cries from a wounded tongue...

The Ragged Poet Mar 2018

Cries from a wounded tongue...

When words do not pour out from the mouth,
An inspired tongue shrivels and dies inside.
Each day is a new poison for the month,
For me to knock my senses, from wherever they reside.

So where do they reside? I ask myself often enough,
I ponder helplessly in search for something to make me feel.
But my wits have all surrendered and in shame they all kneel.
They cry at me, they say they are sorry and that a heavy conscience
Rails upon them hard, forcing them to ***** out their pathetic sympathies.
They have failed me every single time. I am upset. In dissonance,
I part ways and walk away. I don the mask of indifference,
I hide my wounded face in pretense, I do not fear ignorance.

I would rather be a fool a hundred times over,
Than try and make sense of life for even a second.
It’s simply not worth my time. It’s that dreaded cold shower,
Of mornings that especially chain me to my bed.
As I lie in silent protest, I let my habits feast and devour
Any judgment upon my sanity and what is appropriate.

Well what is appropriate? This question itself makes me cower.
It fills my body with chills. I lay stunned in bed; not even a tool.
I hastily realize, what could be more appropriate than playing a fool?
I would rather laugh at myself than let some flower
Laugh at me. I simply cannot give someone else the satisfaction of being cruel.
I would rather stuff my mouth with socks and scream and endlessly drool.

I was not always so resentful. I once dearly held life in high regard,
With kisses and warm embraces. Sadly, that feeling lives no more.

When words do not pour from the mouth,
An inspired tongue shrivels and dies inside.
Each day is a new poison for the month,
So that I may knock my senses, from wherever they reside.

Let us not prolong this for any longer,
Let us go at once to the corpse in the graveyard.
Let us see that mighty whale smother breathlessly,
Let us submit to the fate that nature has sealed.
I admit this a nasty sight, but we must endure helplessly.
Let us not ponder any longer.

When it's just too hard to talk...

Feb 2018 · 168

Beauty: a marble

The Ragged Poet Feb 2018

Beauty: a marble

Why are you so cold, so bitter and distant?
Your beauty radiates as intensely as sunlight
Of mornings and of hope. Why so distraught,
So unaffected then? Do godesses suffer plight?

Do words and sensations mean nothing to you?
Too meager, too mortal, too insatiable for you?
Is silence the better suitor then, and I a wretched sod?
My verses flee in vain, they do not even requite a nod.

Is it sorrow, or is it spite that makes you be this way?
I find myself bemused to wonder how these hindrances sway
Your mood, your deeds and all that you bless and curse.
So trivial and unthinking, your virtues increasingly become worse.

Nov 2017 · 162

Life in a fraction

The Ragged Poet Nov 2017

Life in a fraction

Breathing in vain through these cold days of pain,
Of disdain, while this life gets completely stained.
All the red withdraws from the body without dread,
My head does not think and my heart is no friend.
I am just a dash of indifference parading in coherence,
With no particular semblance just perpetual transparence.
Don’t bother to comprehend me, for there is no way to amend
The undulating folds and bends. You shall never find a definite end!

Apr 2017 · 213

Time's Illusion

The Ragged Poet Apr 2017

Time's Illusion

I felt a shimmering light a mile from where I was sitting.
It was the only thing that my eyes could feel.
As my gaze began to look into the light,
I saw my past crawl out of time.
My sight broke into fragments of images and sounds,
It was as though my past was calling me.
Almost as an ethereal being,
extending its arms towards me.
My pains and sorrows of the present diminished my sight,
And the hands moved closer and closer.
I stood there entranced,
Almost paralyzed.
Quite suddenly, I felt the hands of my past,
Reaching out to choke me.
It took a moment for fear to surge down my spine,
By that moment the light had gone off.
The hands vanished along with that mysterious time,
And there was darkness all around.
All except for the kindle in my mind,
Which made me realise the illusion cast by time.

Isn't a day time's greatest illusion?

Apr 2017 · 294

Sleepless Misery

The Ragged Poet Apr 2017

Sleepless Misery

It’s happening all too fast, I must find a place to sit.
Entrapped within the strangest hour, I lie here divorced from sleep.
Thus plagued and miserable, life is excruciatingly nauseating.
Reacting transcendentally at the fear of turning ill, Firing up
The cauldron of insomnia, welcoming it to slaughter any rest.
Sleepless miseries fleeing in vain, in fleeting days so easily forgotten.
Muddled in a search to find quintessential moments, to etch some memories,
To find a beacon that saves the day, convincing me that there is meaning.

A pale dark sky, a fading moon shining for its final few hours.
For what I see in these bounded moments is fated for an interminable end.
As I already know the hours will pass by, the sky will be gone, only I will remain.
Why is it that I am always out of time? As I do nothing and relentlessly wait.
Yet there is one comfort, one hidden hour which is now. As I feel unbounded,
Free, being able to write and comfortably sigh. For this hour is solely mine.
In this hour I find some peace in thinking of you, I see you as I close my eyes.

Dec 2016 · 213

A Pink-Room Fantasy

The Ragged Poet Dec 2016

A Pink-Room Fantasy

As I silently will to lie down and forget,
To delete things ringing, scattering above.
An unceasing noise is emanating from a bell.
As I await fatigue by what the evening promised,
I start shutting each window, and then every light.
Yet my eyes remain open, ever so wide
With slumber slowly fleeting my eyes,
Why is it that I am sleep deprived?
I hasten to question: “Am I high?”

It’s a wretched site, the breaking of dawn,
A constant reminder, of a battle daily lost.
I hope, still, and try to wield my exhaustion.
Would it not be simple for me to be able to write?
The fate of blinking, each and every shut-eye?
To escape reality and to command its return!
However, these are but my empty thoughts.
I burst obstinate from this miserable unrest.
I beg of you, do not pay this any mind!

“This mind of mine is severely plagued,”
As I say this I hear but only laughter.
Deranged voices from the callous-ignorant,
Unaffected, unmoved, and empathy-sans.
I sense myself conceding, losing yet another battle.
My sanity begins leaking, draining away
As the walls of reason begin closing inward,
I am coerced. “I am now a condemned man.”

Compelled to reconcile, I raise a white flag.
Proclaiming my insanity, this laughter begins to fade,
And a giant voltage surges through my brain.
I surrender my body and my tools of experience.
Anguish, fear and despair is all that I have left.
There still is no sight of sleep in my eyes.
Imagine the plight of a fatal insomniac,
Well, what is he if not simply a maniac?
I beg of you! Do pay heed to these manic cries.

Jun 2016 · 345

When Night Falls

The Ragged Poet Jun 2016

When Night Falls

The night falls often, as she turns her back,
Her sun casts shadows, bleeding radiance.
A second’s brevity is ignorantly understood,
And starts fleeting with her turning face.
Staying clear from the certainties that elapse,
Emerging discordant, in escaping lights

Seeking escape from the elegance in symmetry,
Contemplating, while never forgiving.
Bursting obstinate in all her resentment,
Childishly, the world darkens to hysteria.
Seeking another devilish eye, shining radiant,
Stopping only to gaze at the gleaming dazzle.
Coughing out promises in insincere words,
Wielding her in with an illusive wind.

The veil is cast; diamonds piercing inwards;
A stage of indifference is stubbornly forged.
Resolute, unaccepting to anything unpleasurable,
Desperately drenched, and intoxicated in search.
Walking endlessly on aching legs,
Gasping in and out of the houses of decadence.
Comparing insanities with estranged figures,
Unwillingly enraging the growing distortion.

Ceasing in exhaustion through misplaced exits,
The doors lead only to the roads that circle.
A giant sea appearing in recklessness,
Lost men and women, walking deranged.
Then the bodies tire, turn and fall,
Sinking in loss and fading remembrance.
The veil detaches, seeking the vulnerable,
And she struggles to break the anchor pulling down.

With another gasp, she suddenly awakens,
She stares at the sun, and fails to forget.
Overcome in a daze, which causes her to cringe,
And then paralyzing her every attempt to change.
She sits idly by awaiting subsequence,
A different night? another wail?

Mar 2016 · 397

Striking through a cloud of void

The Ragged Poet Mar 2016

Striking through a cloud of void

Striking through a cloud of void,
Before my eyes, strange and misty.
The walls between the shimmering notes,
Like an image of my heart thumping.

A raging fire is caged within.
Trapped in a cauldron, it tries to escape.
Growing, shriveling, deceiving my eyes
With a subtle burn. It injects agonies.

As I turn my face from this raging fire
It shatters immediately; light breaking against me.
Transcending into a million pieces,
With noises turning into slithering whispers.

The raging fire only grows and ignites a familiar taste.
And there is darkness all around now.
Warped visions start bursting out of phase
As this lattice of thought disturbs me. How?

Between the raging fire and the surrounding void.
I begin to see strange things of manner absurd.
Time moves in circles above
As the shadows shift inside a glove.

This raging fire captivates me. I start falling.
I look up and I see, once more, this lattice of thought.
These visions from time elapsed begin calling
While gently transforming into clear sight.

The raging fire starts to swallow,
I close my eyes and let my heart frighten.
Pulling me down, with a touch I reminisce;
Is this really me? Am I really so hollow?

May 2015 · 872

My Tangerine Heart

The Ragged Poet May 2015

My Tangerine Heart

Oh, Tangerine do stop by,
Help me **** the fleeting time.
The bitterness keeps peeling,
Bleaching me in every bite.
My dented undulating heart,
Bleeds the very orange.

My heart was once young as well,
It soared over life's boughs.
It dazzled over a grassy hill,
Brighter than the midday sun.
Even with the obscuring clouds,
Which kept the blowing winds to shun.

As the evening did spring,
The hill began to swallow.
My heart seemed to color,
Fondling orange with yellow.
Climbing up, this mellow girl.
Had her eyes on my heart.

As she began walking closer,
The rattling wind left it shaking.
But as the breeze blew away,
My heart’s rind felt her touch.
While her eyes kept staring,
Picked me out into her boughs.

The rattling wind did stop,
And I felt I was still shaking.
Her bright shining eyes though,
Seemed too piercing to be true.
In a seasoned moment,
Her grip began to tighten.

Comfort felt crushing now,
And the shaking continued on.
My heart to her open mouth,
As she took my heart, it feared.
But she stopped only to smile,
And threw it down the grassy hill.

And I say to my Tangerine,
My beating heart, come back.
Desolating me on the hill,
The bitterness hurts even more.
Time has fleeted the hourglass.
So my Tangerine do return.

May 2015 · 379

To Daisy

The Ragged Poet May 2015

To Daisy

Staring me with those gleaming eyes,
Rubbing against my cold hand.
Aimlessly staring at the blue sky,
I brush my hand through your hair.

You decide to sit beside me,
Joining me, with time’s testimony.
It wasn’t too long ago,
Circled, within my boughs you lay.

A solitary chair, and an old companion,
The surroundings cease to matter.
The eyes of two attach,
And time flashes on.

Joyous moments of colour,
Tear away as our childhood fades.
Running, dashing and crying,
Seem too much from the chair.

Suddenly, the sinking sun drops,
The surrounding lights gently turn.
A quick look, and our focus returns,
Turning on, the timeless fun.

A cold breeze pierces through,
Reminiscing the gentle summer feel.
Where painting rainbows parted clouds,
And the rains always sung a new song.

Time swallows the faint sounds,
And the screen stops flashing.
How strange time seems,
When it slithers and flees.

When a childhood dashes,
It leaves behind the empty screen.
Reflecting the two gazing eyes,
Making our eyes meet again.

I spread my hands to touch your hair,
Realising, I have left you behind.
I look now upon the dark sky,
But time, it ceases to flash.

— The End —