Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
k-balachandranPoems
*An oracle possessed by a spirit disquieted,                                    he contains a world unknown even to himself, a poem gets written by itself, within himself,                                      organizing material eclectically on its own from roots to crust, essence of experiences,                                     mingle with hopes, fears and yearnings, creating alloys of emotions, welding words to mean different,                                      fixing formations and evocative images, when he stops contended, unfinished yet, many parts in dark still,                                then the readers get themselves invited in to the thickets, disentangle the vines, make way through the foliage thick,                  hanging  branches and twigs,  light falls in the darkened corners, the poet and creator, the oracle himself, sits looking at the flowers and fruits                                  bathed in a new light, on what the subconscious spoke, when he listens,  the singing of the birds acquires new meaning,                                   sound of the running brook has a rhythm not familiar, that take him to the sea, where all end in a swim, like in a dream*
0
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Speakings of a world hidden under shadows
*An oracle possessed by a spirit disquieted,                                    he contains a world unknown even to himself, a poem gets written by itself, within himself,                                      organizing material eclectically on its own from roots to crust, essence of experiences,                                     mingle with hopes, fears and yearnings, creating alloys of emotions, welding words to mean different,                                      fixing formations and evocative images, when he stops contended, unfinished yet, many parts in dark still,                                then the readers get themselves invited in to the thickets, disentangle the vines, make way through the foliage thick,                  hanging  branches and twigs,  light falls in the darkened corners, the poet and creator, the oracle himself, sits looking at the flowers and fruits                                  bathed in a new light, on what the subconscious spoke, when he listens,  the singing of the birds acquires new meaning,                                   sound of the running brook has a rhythm not familiar, that take him to the sea, where all end in a swim, like in a dream*
A poet many a time understands own creation better when a reader's exploration brings the hidden to light.
k-balachandran
Written by
k-balachandran
Indian
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem