The lover’s wounded heart bleeds silently
From the invisible cut, that runs deep
Lacerated by the steely disdain of the lover
Her world revolved around him
Now, she is bereft of any world, but pain
Slowly, the maimed heart leaves her incapacitated*




© Amitav (Radiance)

Poetess, rare in contemporary usage
yet, not rare in actuality.
Am I a poet? Or a poetess?
The word "poetry" derives from the Latin feminine noun poetria, meaning not "poetry" but "poetess.
So, confusion reigns in my mind as to what I am
but not what I do, or why I do it.
Do I write because I want recognition? Fame? Accolades? No.
Do I write because I need to? Yes.
Words soothe my soul, whether they be dark words or
words forged in the light.
Poetry allows the poet and the reader to visualise
nay experience all forms of love, hurt, pain, madness,
and suffering, the poet, the poem and the reader become as one.

Dying moments by shutter
captured.
Memories in living pictures
interred.

The only freedom we have is the
unconditional love we have to give
and the painful confessions
we offer to the blank page,
there is no judge
but our conscience
and the earnestness of our hearts.

Little Bird – (Forever and Always)

When I read to Tony at bed time, there are times his little sister Lucy is there for our nightly ritual.  When all is read and eyes are closing, I say to Tony,  “Good night Tony Boy.  Love you forever and always.  See you in the morning.”

One afternoon Lucy (2) climbed up into my big chair and positioned herself just so.  When all was snuggled in, she looked up at me and said, “My love you grandpa.”  Of course I do what all thinking grandpas do… I said, “I love you too Lucy.”  A moment goes by, a little shifting in the nest occurs, and I hear, “My love you grandpa!”   Now the reasonable thinking grandpa would say, “I love you too Lucy Girl.”  Which I did.  But that was not the end of this conversational delight. Then she looked up into my face with some consternation on her’s and said, “How come you don’t say ‘forever and always’ grandpa?”  “Oh Lucy Girl.  Grandpa does love you forever and always.  Yes I do.”  With that affirmation of love she settled in with a smile on her face and snuggled up tighter.

What may seem to be a small thing to big people is a really BIG thing to the small.

I have reached the pinnacle of joy when Tony Boy and Lucy Girl are snuggled in… one on each side.  “All is well.”  At least in my world it is.

A memory so old, turned to sepia
From the pigmentation of Time
Losing all defining boundaries
As the album pages become dog eared
Due to long years of reminiscing
The moments shared together
A happy snapshot, now fading away
Can’t recall anymore on introspection
The album full of memories
Black and white turns to sepia
And ravages of time discolors
Once colorful moments
Captured only in black and white






© Amitav (Radiance)

Clouds can also bring the much needed showers to replenish your parched soul.*- Amitav

Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.

Some were warriors
Living by sword, others
Just unlucky.

No one safe from
Anything. I buy her
Pepperspray instead of

Flowers these days.
Keep leaving
Butterfly knives in the

Pockets of her coats.
I am a man of non-violence,
But one with worlds to lose.

I miss the days when the fight
Ended as ground was hit.
Knuckles and bones were

All we needed; men fencing
For themselves with nothing
But themselves,  

And women were there to be
Charmed and fought over. Not
Left torn and terrified

In a ditch, broken beyond repair,
Their men helplessly wielding
Lead and steel at the absence

Of the animal responsible.
I'll buy her flowers today.
Flowers, and walk her home.

Bullet and blade
Have ended
Many a friend.

The weight of their
Tragedies is about the
Same

As that of the crates of ammunition
It takes to keep the world
Safe from the threat of itself.