She waits. How beautifully she waits.
How impossibly lovely she is
with a thing so passive.

With what weight she waits,
making her bus or boyfriend
(or whatever she waits for)
seem like a first brunch with Christ.

She waits regally, in perfect contrast
to the drooling buffoon describing her.

she waits on knights and kings
the pain and glory that they bring
the laughter and mirth of their fans

she waits on dukes and lords
the greatness they launch you towards
the lifestyle, the grandeur, the decay

she waits on mansions and castles
and any other large parcels
to give her the joy that she craves

she waits on what she knows
from white fences to old shows
to once again make her feel

she waits on death and life
to combat her strife
and bring her peace amidst the pain

she waits on earth and moon
and every sandy dune
to love and adore her as one

she waits on what she can't take
and all her previous mistakes
it haunts and torments her at night

she waits on dark and light
she waits on her last true fight
a battle of place and time

she waits on pain and hate
wishing for a clean slate
"any moment now."

A heart waits

While sifting through the questions
piled high in a mountain of doubt,
reaching heights beyond belief
and scraping ceilings of torment

A heart waits…

Now tiring quickly, loosing strength,
finding the walk longer than you expected
Closing one eye to find the other does not see
and falling to dark corners of fear

A heart waits…

As volume amasses upon weakened shoulders,
and pain breaches the avenue
of store front sale signs
on locked door close outs

A heart waits…

When it all seems too much,
memos become lists of forever paper,
words scratched in blood ink
of empty pens spilling

A heart waits…

If you have found that point
where your mind says no more
and you feel that nothing will ever be enough,
please remember…

A heart waits…and that heart is mine

She waits,
Her waiting started in summer
Honey suckle, started to grow around her ankles
Ivey, took root between her toes
Still, she waits
Fall,
Honeysuckle, Now bare
Ivey, ever growing
Trees, losing their leaves
She waits,
Winter,
Even as the frost climbs her bare legs
Snow, sticking to her eyelashes
Winter winds, blowing, freezing
Still, she waits
Spring,
Birds nesting, chirping in her long hair
Honeysuckle, flowers to her knees
Ivey, growing and green
She waits,
Hundreds of sunrises, and sunsets
Countless new, and full moons
Eyes upward,
Arms out stretched
Still, she waits
Again, summer
She is covered now,
A lady of green
Vines of honeysuckle,
And Ivey
Unrecognizable,
She waits.......

it's so perfect.
so divine.
inside she finds
that safe place and
like
a marble is blue
like a gesture
is small
like yeast must rise-
like the cat's eye,
paw at you.
because
as the cat waits
with the sunbeam she plays.
the tea
and the teacup-
exquisitely she waits.
she waits.
empty she will.
so
deny
still
exquisitely
majestically  
instinctively she waits.
on her own bone china
pretty little fragile
thing
on her own
she waits,
exquisitely she waits.


sahn
12/4/14

A pearl waits indeed,
albeit of exceptional beauty...
No matter how rare or how valuable,
a pearl waits indeed.
A pearl waits indeed,
for the bravest of divers...
No matter how long or how far,
to swim deep for her historical harvest.
A pearl waits indeed,
albeit of celebrated rarity...
No matter how treacherous the ocean,
a pearl stays still and sits pretty.
A pearl waits indeed,
in the embrace of the sea...
No matter how tumultuous the waves get,
a pearl waits indeed...
A pearl waits...
to be worn as a necklace
or earrings by a poet.
A poet who also refers to herself as a pearl.
A poet so foolishly comparing herself.
But then again, she's not so wrong.
Asking questions to the sky before bed.
Will you pick me up and take me away
from this seabed of moss and loss?
Will you harvest me from the vast ocean
and its mass of loneliness?
A pearl waits...
to be held, touch and kissed by the fingers
of a brave diver, of a worthy surfer...
Or simply by a simple island boy,
whose heart is that of a lion's
and whose hands are able...

The creature waits clenched.
It waits hunkered and steadfast
For the quintessential moment to
Dangle your pride and cut its
Throat where you can see it.

The creature waits fuming.
It waits - shadowed and drip-fed -
For the penny to drop from its height;
To pierce the soft body of calm
And let loose the mess.

The creature waits grinning.
It waits smug and hysterical
For the time and times before this
Where it beat down a smile by
Forcing the question:

What is wrong with me?

She stood beneath the breaking sky
And held every cloud in her hand.
Sang each a lullaby
And laid them to rest in the sand.

But tide waits for no one.
Tide waits for no one.

All the same, day after day,
The prowlers who preach to the sun,
Keeping some lonely at bay
And blind to all that they've done.

Tide waits for no one.
Tide waits for no one.

Clouds rise round the devil,
As he sits by the deep blue sea.
Cries as the waves lap his feet,
And each tear belongs to me.

Tide waits for no one.
Tide waits for no one.

A heart waits

While sifting through the questions
piled high in a mountain of doubt,
reaching heights beyond belief
and scraping ceilings of torment

A heart waits…

Now tiring quickly, loosing strength,
finding the walk longer than you expected
Closing one eye to find the other does not see
and falling to dark corners of fear

A heart waits…

As volume amasses upon weakened shoulders,
and pain breaches the avenue
of store front sale signs
on locked door close outs

A heart waits…

When it all seems too much,
memos become lists of forever paper,
words scratched in blood ink
of empty pens spilling

A heart waits…

If you have found that point
where your mind says no more
and you feel that nothing will ever be enough,
please remember…

A heart waits…and that heart is mine

Every second a moment waits
For someone to notice.
Every minute a clock waits
For it's hands to meet again.
Every hour the horizon waits
For the sun to get closer.
Every night the tides wait
For the pull of the moon.
Every month that moon waits
For the feeling of fullness.
I don't feel complete on my own.
Every star waits for darkness.
Every worm waits for wings.
Every dusk waits for dawn.
And every shoreline waits for waves.
I have always wanted to feel
Like a part of this Earth,
So I will wait too.
For you.

See the man who sits and waits,
remaining ever so still;
Patiently, patiently among the rocks,
under a moonlit night.

Watch the younger one,
tense and all about;
Eagerly, eagerly aside the river,
above the glossy shimmer.

See the man who sits and waits,
not to flinch at nature's chill;
He hears a thump then sees bush rustle,
knocks an arrow without hustle.

Watch the youth,
his eyes wide with fear;
He spots  ripples in the river,
readies his spear in haste.

See the man who sits and waits,
his sure fingers hold their place;
From the bushes emerge a plump hare,
all it does is look and stare.

Watch the youth,
his face is sweaty and he is ready;
He sees a snake, but does not wait,
he thrusts in his spear not to be late.

See the man who sits and waits,
he eyes up his prey searching for a chance;
But then yet another hare is to follow,
it came out of a tree that was hollow.

Watch the youth,
he is going home without any food;
He scared away all the prey,
he has been hunting all day.

See the man who sits and waits,
he smiles to himself as he readies another arrow;
Thwoop, Thwoop go two arrows under the moonlit night,
the man's prey lie before him as he takes out his knife.

And so it comes to this: the end of days,
The sum of starlit nights and rain-washed years
I spent with friends who lie stone dead in fields
Of Troy. My faithful Andromache waits
With Astyanax, my son: I wish my stay
Would last one summer more; to see him grow,
To lie with her in balmy autumn nights,
And rest in fields where Golden barley grows.

But Achilles waits: no war is ever just,
And he is young, a boy who seeks his fame,
He does not understand my love for life.
The gods have foretold this: but I will not
Take shelter behind walls. I see old death;
He waits for me. What can a mortal do
When gods take sides, and all our years are bound
In dice that fates have rolled; and now death waits.

As long as mankind exists, Achilles wants
His name to last, but I just want to live
In peace, to tend my goats and watch the sun
In lands where neither men nor gods seek blood;
But Achilles waits: and death is waiting too.
And all my yesteryears have led to this:
This field, this god-infested ground, and I
Wait sword in hand for death: I am ready.

Diptesh Ghosh