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Sourodeep Oct 2016
Imaginations clouding my mind
with what beauty lies inside
only a glimpse I can see
through the window by the tree

The size and scale I cannot determine
shadows from lamps dance in line
between the broken wooden frame
from my side each shadow looks the same

Story concealed by a wavy curtain
about the truth I cannot be so certain
In my mind images shape up and grow
while my heart lies in just the beautiful shadow
Every story we hear might not be true, a curtain might be shaping the shadow for us.
  Oct 2016 Sourodeep
SE Reimer
~

when joy seems lost, when peace is gone;
to earth falls flat pleas skyward cast;
when those thought once to be a friend,
have all gone on, seems none are left;
when ears that heard, yet now are deaf,
when dreams lay torn, and hope bereft.

do not despair, nor call for end,
beyond these mists i am your friend;
your voice, a cry on wing and clear,
not all have left, know i am near;
i am hope disguised as gentle hands,
that reach to sooth the soul in angst.

i am love cloaked as eyes that seek,
the wounded heart that silent weeps;
i am your brother, i your kin,
though not by blood, nor race, nor skin,
yet beats within this breast as yours,
a heart breathed life at heaven's door.

your breath, my own, my will i share,
till yours can breathe, your burdens bear;
my oath, my pledge, your comfort be,
my blood transfused, beats still in thee;
i lend my hope to be your warmth,
i offer arms to hold you close.

you need not face another day,
a lifeless soul who walks away,
a faceless one who’s lost their voice,
but ’til your own has been restored,
to you the lyrics, lines belong,
'til you remember, i’ll sing your song.

~

*post script.

approximately 96 hopeless souls reach the end each day, and pull the trigger on whatever their choice of escape they had planned it to be (that’s one every fifteen minutes).  the number is even larger if we include those who attempt and fail.  if there are only six degrees of separation, imagine how many in your circle this means are contemplating, and are in and out of some level of consideration of making this day their last.  remember, a song is amazingly powerful.  it does not take a fireman to talk someone down off a ledge or a policeman to coax someone into laying down the gun, it only takes someone who is willing to listen, long before the gun and the ledge; someone willing to smile and be hope and notes for a soul who has lost their song... to remind them of the song they have forgotten; their song... hope’s song!
  Oct 2016 Sourodeep
Ja
Each day I ****, on a Whiskey bottle
As my life, also does **** on me
My worth on earth, about as much
As my **** is, to the sea

Inside this swashing jug, a raging sea
Sets me adrift, atop a cresting wave
Then pulls me under to such depths
That my soul, I can no longer save

With each gulp, I stir the bowels
Arouse the sediment and silt
And as it settles, I hope it hides
Or at least, obscures my gilt

Every mouthful, flays my throat
Like waves, they break into the rocks
Smashing, spraying, then dissipating
Where the Devil stands and mocks

I drink until, my mind goes blank
Then plunge into the floor
At last, a drunken blissful peace
Until I wake, once more

So as I lay here, on this deck
Inebriated, dying in this flask
I think of you and what we had
If forgiveness, I could only ask
BOEMS BY JA 614
  Oct 2016 Sourodeep
Elizabeth Squires
Whatever happened on that fateful night
We can speculate in the dimness of light
Was found the poet who went by the name of Poe
Wandering a Baltimore street of long ago

Mystery surrounds this most tragic event
No witnesses came forth with telling to vent
His mind state must of been in utter disarray
Why would he not know of the foul play

In dishevelled ragged clothes he was clad
An injustice on his person had been so sad
Elections were taking place on the date
His registered title forged another's slate

To a hospital he was sent for treatment
Though his weakened constitution never bent
The man of letters died a loner's death
His last words were of God's sure breath

Who wanted the author disposed of back then
We'll ever conjecture on the character's pen
  Oct 2016 Sourodeep
Valsa George
A weaver of words in deep quiet reflects
In his mind’s prism, many a thought deflects
Within him the rainbow colours of passion rage
      He scripts songs of beauty and rhyme on page after page

      He has no magic, neither erudite nor clever
But hungry souls, his poems avidly devour
Stirring their hearts as wind on whispering leaves
And each line, some alluring fancy weaves

As from pen to paper his fancies flow
In a lingua that has an unusual glow
Though a great epic may not be born
His songs move even hearts of flint n’ stone

He sings the paeans of love and life
Of men in cross roads of toil and strife
He awakens dead worlds long forgotten
Taking us to magic lands never trodden

      His songs have echoes of a heavenly rhapsody
Drowning the Earth in flooding melody
Fuelling hearts with thoughts one cannot name
Spawning tempestuous passions one cannot tame
Sourodeep Oct 2016
Away, I am
from this blank page.
filled with an unknown
undefined rage.
Hatred inside grown
against whom
I cannot comprehend.

Looking for excuses,
drawing away from reality
spitting out curses
on the face of fake charity.

With love for green
I have traveled to places,
upon meeting people
I have not seen
happiness in their faces.

The tune still rings
inside my ***** head.
When will my dreams
grow the wings
needed to fly before
these eyes become dead.
Poems have become a satire to my own self.
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