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 May 2016
K Balachandran
Just a drink of water,
to quench my thirst
for your presence
for ever---

A loving pat on one cheek
for all the love on me you showered,
and softly, ever so softly
on the other cheek
give  the parting kiss for keeps.

That's all I ask for,
all the love we shared between us
never fully contained in whispers and kisses
all night conversations and caresses.

Taking a deep breath, look in to my eyes,
and pour all your blues, for me not to forget,
we are a coagulated scented mass, rare
no one in this world could separate.

Let me  emulate the wind, that rustles leaves
well before leaving without telling anything
and in return shuffle my hair, like before,
I will leave smiling, without thinking.
even when my heart is in fire hissing:
"Ah! this is how it all ends, never to repeat"

I 've learned the art of containing pain,
quite early in my life, without much effort,
a white fluffy haired pup,my dad's first gift,
that made happy beyond my little heart's content,
the one I bathed cared and fed, day and night
left for ever, in one cold  after noon...
heart broken I wept, tried to wake him up
Dad consoled "Let's buy another".It didn't help, a bit.

But when the pet parakeet, that flew around our home
was made his meal by our own rouge cat
the scattered wings, feathers and bones scared,
I didn't cry or panic, the pain died down within
I was learning a lesson then for a path strewn with thorns.

I'll walk away straight, with a smile,
like many smiles went past you,
but now, I know  you'll whimper,
But don't,  please don't shed that drop of tear
at the corner of your eye, hold it there,
it'll mutely tell you about a love divine, for ever.
 May 2016
Free Bird
I thought I was in love once
But I was just the gum upon his shoe
I let him stomp all over me
While I stuck to him like glue

He told me that he loved me
Which is why in my impressionable youth
I thought "this must be the real deal"
I thought he spoke the truth

The next time someone confessed their love
I couldn't bring myself to believe
That someone could ever care for me
I thought surely they would leave

So I pushed them away, && they did just that
They left me in a hurry
By this point I was too damaged to see
That deep down I was worthy

You see once a person is broken down
Their heart can never go back
The pieces may stick back together again
But if you look, you can still see the crack
 May 2016
K Balachandran
A still pool dreaming,
Meddling wind on it's surface,
Ripples voice protests.
 May 2016
r
Long ago
in the land
of the happy
and unlonely there
came a wandering band
of men called strangers
bringing sorrow
and welcomed in
because misery
loves company
as we all now know.
;)
 May 2016
Valsa George
A week back, in my garden bloomed, a tiny flower
Neither colorful nor flashy to grab anyone’s attention
The next day one more bud opened of golden hue
Making it more visible, adding an iota to its attraction

Each day to the delicate stalk was added more
Until finally it grew into a large globular cluster
I now stand nonplussed before its splendor
So lovely, it can steal any one’s glance by its luster

 When the wind ruffles the leaves of trees
The mother plant in luxuriant foliage stands proud
Bobbing her golden crown in gentle breeze
Safely screened from the gaze of passing crowd

A dandy butterfly has come flitting down
To kiss those regal beauties like a besotted lover
Embarrassed by such a public show of love
The bashful maidens bend their heads so demure

I am the sole witness to this passionate romance
To the love struck dandy’s out right advance!
I have a small garden in my house of which I am rather proud ! Besides poetry, gardening is my passion. An eye catching shot from my garden
If you're ever on the riverside
where the sun beats your head
you would see the old man
selling hats of palm leaf
but you care not to notice him
having already smelled the sea
and too keen to cross the river
travel southward on the island
till the saline wind scalds your eyes
your skins itch to jump into the waves
yet the man with the palm leaf hats
would not cease to tell you
how burning would be the sun on the sands
and so badly you need to protect the head
by parting bucks that mean nothing to you
but a world to the mouths he feeds
and before you stamp on him a final no
she has one atop her hair
beneath which her eyes flutter like butterflies
her sun rouged cheeks untimely blush
and two born anew lovers
merrily head for the sea
having bought romance
for forty bucks.
May Christ bless each and every one of you, my friends.
May your day be smooth, and full of tremendous Joy.
May everything that you touch bless everyone that you know.
May you be one of Christ most blessed servant to others.
May his Great protection of you be like Psalms 91 protection.
May your heart always be filled with Love for everyone.
May everything that you love, be pure and Holy too.
May your nights be filled with rest and peace always my friend.
 Apr 2016
jane taylor
The chill in the frigid night air
casts tremors of lingering shadows
upon an ancient windowsill
where a liquescent candle’s glow dims.

Peering into shattered mirrors’
silver hued jagged edges
that no longer reflect counterfeit images
a nascent paradigm unfurls in the wind.

Terrifying diminutive steps are taken
in directions au courant
enabled by years of refinement
in torrid near incessant fires.

An excrescence of wisdom
has broken the weathered mold
allowing a senescent wisdom
to shimmer a phosphorescent glow.

The venerable map leading
to this transcendent destination
is not read but perceived
through intuition’s faint whisperings.

©2015 janetaylor
address to soundcloud version
https://soundcloud.com/user-229781433/whispers-1
 Apr 2016
K Balachandran
Sky is a taut, grey net spread,
at its  best in creating panic,
relentless day a brutish marauder,
drained of color of every kind, bleak,
even thought of you distant, my nectar
plays hide and seek, I am plunging
in a hallucinatory spin, down, down.

From inside a furnace closed
with a tight lid under which heat
in it's fiery glory permeates
like never before, a full- throated roar,
without any sound it travels around,
in waves after waves after waves,
to scorch every single thing under
the blood thirsty sun, on a hurried
march for revenge,green turbaned
trees and scarf adorned branches
changed all those embellishments
gone bone dry,now stand apologetic
like kids that made bed wet and caught
red handed, shrunk in shame and pain.

Narcolepsy reigns, drowsiness
day and night, like marijuana haze
follows.
            This summer makes its name stick
in bad books,making T.S.Eliot look
shame faced for calling one past tame April,
uncharitably the cruelest of it all.
But this, this is an unbridled wild horse
none can in no way do anything to stop.

When even the last drop of water from
the pond evaporates,sunburn peels the skin,
sun stroke down people, who are unaware,
cruelty of April, becomes monumental.

Perhaps in few days time May could barter
that bad name from April,I'd easily guess.

Buildings , in rows and rows lie, til horizon,
like blood drained corpses all though the day,
the  appetite for life, they evidently has lost.
Song birds on flowered trees, have gone mute,
doves scamper, dart in to the air, with hope
to get few drops of water  from somewhere

Kindhearted few fill water and feed on containers
for stray birds,taking cue from the practices of forefathers.
Change in climate is an ogre, that could with bare hands
smash pompous attitudes  and other human constructs!

Will there ever be a limit, to the red eyed monster,
avarice, we all pamper, within our inner courtyards,
that forces human beings to to do "Harakiri"
like a proud Samurai does with his own sword.
Harakiri-Ritualistic honor suicide by the Japanese "Samurai"
warriors who  value honor above any thing
Why did I cull corn just like all the
other chickens
At what point did I betray musical talent
for endless , repetitive nowhere living
To be eighteen again , 'tis a popular tune
sung by many
What caused me to write poetry for the first time
seven months ago , which fork in the avenue carried
me to everlasting love , why do I find great solace in being
alone
What force drives me to trouble my fellow writers
at this late hour with the roads I've chosen
Copyright April 26 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
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