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Easterly Mar 12
O Rain maker! Don't charge me with lightnings,
My cries echo like thunder;
Empty me like that docile cloud which 's just
Wept over the world round,
That calm and peaceful white cloud–
Father of gale hovering over the green
And beneath the phoebe.
My soul is ready yet
Why isn’t it evaporated?
O Maker! "Where art thou!" Flare of glory!
It' an unfinished poem, just an over flow .of emotion. I wrote it in a single sitting.
Easterly Dec 2018
O rich Heaven! The owner of earths! You already own the infinity!
Diamonds in the size of the mount Olympus, even vast,
Torches numberless, thousand times bigger than the phoebus,
Every departed soul from the past twinkles already on your lap large,
Seas without shores and the biggest of all ball floors,
Legends with roots so dense even light cannot probe, what's one more?
Of all combinations between the south and the north
O greedy Heaven! You **** for my love!

Don't rob this poor with such rich hands, I pray to you,
Even if I refrain others will rave and stain.
O don't pluck the apples of my eyes. Shame!
Had I been a beggar that blindness would have given me fame!
But living under your roof doesn't allow me to beg,
So, my sole request- let my loves throb in my rustic chest.
Easterly Sep 2018
Basking in the same star hardly makes souls familiar,
It takes time, sometimes even lives,
Yet familiarity becomes a curse 'tis that souls depart
And all depart- some by death, some by hatred, the omni-vice,
So I sit where I'll be free from too much of familiarity
No one to wave, no one to read out loud the epitaph of my eyes,
Unknown crowd is a bliss- the first mother one ever cherishes,
Covered on the lap velvety ******* the milk of possibility
Yet be carefree to the cruelty of a union resulting into solidity.
The star revolves- crowd thickens and familiarity lessens,
Unless, one joins even bigger crowd,
O harbinger of equity! Talk the same tongue, dressed in the same shroud,
All the same space, all the same meat, same journey, all equally proud,
Worms too rule like the ruler who did justice to his throne,
So familiar on this top, I'm one jump away from home.
Easterly Sep 2018
God is above
Of all and other things
Adam bit the apple,
Who had all this vision seen?

Follow the Lord or follow the horde?
Even one was heavy then,
Chastening in a trembling Eden;
A coiled serpent yawning in each head.
Easterly Sep 2018
My soul clanks when the hammer of Truth hits
And beflats my whole existence, that rusty one sits
On the anvil, there I lie half conscious, half sleep stricken,
My Smith hurls and my soul clanks!
Had I been plastic rust wouldn't dare to touch it!
I would be perfect to be moulded into a dummy,
A gentle lifeless creature, dancing on the notes of their fingers,
Loved and longed, and the sleep's harbinger;
In a sick fluke as metal I was sent,
Strong against storms yet vulnerable to the wind.

O my Smith! Would you make a tool out of me?
Or am I long gone? An useless fish out of the pond?
Are my pores too many? O my Smith! Hit me
Until I be the sword of a king's ****.
Easterly Dec 2017
In a whimsy tasted my emotion-
I shrieked, it was too strong,
In my deep-delved chest it was,
Very old- so strong.
I was forced
By your pleasant "hello",
That brought the false past back-
I used to knit; glasses, needless, rocking chair,
Like the old witch knitted our story,
A very false one,
Yet more real than the reality
Of today, of yonder, of bygone.
Reality of falsehood, falsehood of reality
Floated in front of my eyes,
I plunged deep deep into that flood,
Let myself drowned in memory,
Matured, and came out a crying baby.
Easterly Nov 2017
It has been a bad year,
It has been a sad year,
A year so fast, I drank, yet, is thirst.
A year so fast,
Triggered- heart's pierced.
Mouth like fountain pen singing ballad
Of maroon stories: melodramatic encounters
Of apples and fairies, now empty orchard,
Spectre of me and spectre of tree
Moon and Fall are against us all,
To show the deep, to touch the deep
Are at their full glamour.
My eyes are not red,
I wear no cape,
Neither do I have fangs,
But a corpse so thin in a too big coffin
Like Adam alone on plain
Searching for that wise serpent
Who will infer my fair Eve
And I... propagate my greed.

— The End —