There is a forest old as hillsides
tall, majestic, dappled shades
fall on ground beneath the silent
gnarled defenders of the glade.

There they stand in ancient splendour
many souls have passed their way
often used as welcome shelter
from the heat of summers day.

Sweet the air they breathe in chorus
our life's breath their lungs provide,
soaking up our daily poison
so that we may live and thrive.

You seas of men intent to clear them
citing progress, peddling greed
tearing roots from precious mooring
laying waste to nature's seed.

**** the beauty of a landscape
displace creatures for your need
rupture fragile ecosystems
scar the earth and watch it bleed.

To you I ask a simple question,
as I see the land bereaved.
What need has man of all this progress
when he can no longer breathe?

They say
rêverie
made
the human heart.

I say
we first unfolded
our heart
gazing at trees.

Hypnotically
we watch the dancing leaves,
waving green,
flamboyant canvas,
single brown hanging on.

Delusionally,
we learn the longing,
we portrait our storms,
we are taught transitoryness.

Is this not
why, as a child,
we handed leaves
- the most special ones -
to eternity,
in between the pages
of our favourite books?

Your high intellect is a slim shield for the heart that bleeds black death beneath it.

It need not die.
Though all is mortal and finite know this
My love for you is eternal.
It is within my love the light that will hold that blackness at bay.
A wall more than a shield.

So drop your weaponry my darling. Sheath that sharp wit for another day
For another lover
For I am not your enemy
In me you find your man.

I broke again today.
Mind caged behind emotions
Not of my making,
Not of my choosing.

The tempest whipped up
By foreign deities
Which reside inside
Whom do not mask their hate.

I cry out for your help
Even as I strike your hand
When you reach for me.

Yet you stand resolute
In the wake of my broken fury,
Birthing new love within me
As I find strength in numbers
For I am no longer alone.

I do not wish to dream,
For dreams are illusionary life,
Peopled with phantoms of the living
Reflecting our awakened mind's
Fears, lusts, hopes.
Vanity flavours the subconscious.

There is no rest here.

When I close my eyes I pray for darkness.
I wish to escape into the black,
Silk tendrils of the lost tickle my fancy,
Easing my ever chattering mind
Into micro deaths of sweet silence.
I do not exist,
Neither do you,
Nothing.
It is here that I find comfort.

Solace in the forgetting.

Death is boring.
Dark, cowled and skeletal,
Exuding a mysteriousness that she fails to fulfill.
Her goals are one dimensional
Though myriad in her often creative
Approach.
Creative after an eternity of
Collection.

God is almighty.
What can you give the man who has everything?
Your faith?
Omnipotence...
Safe bets are seldom captivating.
Unless you’re a criminal stacking the odds
While your fellow man takes the dive
For your gain,
Your glory.

Buddha is just a man.
Enlightened.
He accepted Death’s embrace,
And God’s divinity
Thrusting aside the Devil’s whispered
Temptations.
Yet
Buddha was just a man.

The Devil whispers the sweetest dreams
His voice is a silk melody
Dancing along our nerves
Touching our forbidden parts
“Take her, she wants your ****”
Plunge into her moist depths
Sheath your spear,
Spill your seed,
****** hard
Then soft
Find release in her moans
Peace and heaven in her trembling touch.

Her moist lips part
But it is not your name she sounds
Her voice once radiant with lust
With desire
Now drives a shard of hate within, through your still rapidly beating heart.
Cupid speaks another name

Once hard now limp
Pull back, pull out your flimsy ****
Look down into the empty depths of her eyes
See in them another man
Her hunger is sated
Bruised lips mouth the apology your ears refuse to hear
Yet your heart laid bare just moments before
Is pierced anew.
Laugh it off but
The Devil has his hooks in you

Another carcass for the heap
She is the hook, you are the meat
Butchered
The lost leading the sheep to slaughter
Do not fret, you are not finished
Soon you will rise a phoenix from her cooling embers
Golden and resolute
Stronger for having licked her poison
Yet you will know that you are now
A stranger to yourself
You are the hook
Find him some meat
The Devil hunts again.

Do not stress over the broken dreams of yesterday,
Cracks in the walls of your good intentions allow the glimmer of light,
Neither sought or understood,
To shine through.
You cannot know what awaits,
Not can you have more than the slightest effect on your life's outcome for 'you' as you know yourself to be is nothing more than a grouping of molecules more complex than the universe you reside in and your thoughts and designs no more authored by you than your eventual fate.
So please do not angst over broken hearts and what may have been,
You never really had a chance anyway,
Yet realize that something good and often better will come for within you resides the universe just as you reside within it.

The constellation of the night sky
Dotted with Asterism
Calling our attention to the mystical lights
Plotting an image on our minds
The celestial space is where minds wander*





© Amitav (Radiance)

Poetry is like gusts of fresh air
Harbinger of the soul’s catharsis
Flowing emotions through the pen
Concealed pain written across the pages
Healing the pain which was long buried