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M Solav Apr 5
Where is that hand,
That motherly embrace,
Which comforts in its ****** -
That motherly hand I can trust?

Where is that hand,
That warming caress,
Which eases the nerves -
That cocoon of soft curves?

  There is no rest anymore
  In thoughts of exile and escape;
  My being is shaken to the core,
  My soul bent under the stress.

Where is that hand,
That soothing absence,
Which cradles you gently -
That silence of calm and mercy?

Where is the hand,
That promise of better days,
Which relieves innocently -
That convincing “don’t worry”?

  There is no rest anymore
  In thoughts of exile and escape;
  My being is shaken to the core,
  My soul bent under the stress.
Written on August 7th, 2021;
Completed in April 2022.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Deep Oct 2021
The mystic Sadhu
chants cryptic
mantras,
I hear
the Hammssss of his voice,
He is lost in his world
Like I'm with mine,
Above me, the bridge
clanked gleefully
announcing the arrival of her lover;
Shimmering in white, honking
it moves slowly like a big serpent,
Ending the tryst
with a flickering red light.

Several mounds, smoldering woods,
and one body stuck to
the trunk of the bridge
swirled in me the fear of
leaving this world early,
leaving all that I strived to
achieve, and leaving all of
it in the middle.

Buses pass on the next bridge
A hand came out
and aimed the stream with
something, probably a coin,
to compensate for wrongdoings,
Coin-collectors waiting like a
starving lion in a zoo
pounced on these throwings,
aiming the spot  
with a magnet like
a trained ninja in nocturnal warfares,
After a few unsuccessful attempts
A boy yelled in joy
"Har Har Gange".


The Ganges was like this
from the beginning,
She was moderate in demands
offering so much
at the cost of a penny,
Throw a coin and
you are absolved from all your sins.
The scene that I described is a Ghat where most of the GangaAsnans performed near Allahabad.
LC Oct 2021
brow creases lightly
piano sings a soothing song -
fingers in their turf.
Alan S Jeeves Sep 2021
A gentle hand upon my skin
To balm my sleeping soul within
A fragile brushing 'gainst my face
Adorns my soul with air and grace.
The kindest, mildest, tender touch
Subdues my soul to mind too much
The quaver of my joyful heart
As all my anguish blows apart.
And in the fluent light of morn
A freshness in my soul, reborn,
Where thoughts bygone, should I partake,
May kiss my brow as I awake.
“Why did you do this for me?” He asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.” “You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
- E.B. White Charlotte's Web

Blooming violet, ghost
Of the blonde sun.
Beauty of contrast.
The sun shines brighter
But not perceived by many,
The violet no longer hides
And eclipses the star with
Its heart shaped petals

Mythic essence, desired
By queens... emperors.
Her hidden power.
The might of Greece
Kneels down to her grace.
The flower of spring Persephone
Has chosen. Athens symbol.
Flower to fool Apollo

Withheld greatness, how
modest she is to all.
The gift of Humility.
The faithful flower painted
Timidly by the Bible’s artists,
Is occasionally too reticent
To glance at her kind spirit
And behold my rescue

Healing Heartsease, blossoming
Even before melting snow.
The soul savior.
Violet’s tender touch of protection
Softly soothing my skin.
The salve of my machine.
Her words, the river dam.
But ephemeral is the scent.  

Friendship essence, sweet
Magic wholly consuming me.
Tolkien of love.
How elegantly and delicately her
Colors dance and sing with the wind,
To engender the Victorian praxis
Binding us both with thoughts
Occupied by timeless bliss.

Elegant royal, spiritual
Guide of my fortune and good judgment.
Muse of twilight.
For she finds me in cold calamity
And warms my hand through the abyss.
Stargazing, I dream of hope, clarity and
To be born anew. She left her nectar.
Early morning emerges in delight.
In the last poem of the second chapter, a new character is introduced. Violet is that friend that feels like she knows you deeply, even if you know each other only for months. But for a person who has lost and now feels invisible, how much of that new friendship is purely affectionate and not romantic?
in the night
all by yourself,
with some tunes
in the background
to hit you with the memories,
they all seem very real
you'd thought they
would simply disappear,
but a lot of time
has gone by since
and now here you are
where even the walls have ears,
having heard many stories
over the years
so what's it going to be tonight?
'hold my hand',
says the hour hand to the minute hand
of the wall clock,
tick tock!
as time seems to pause
and you deep dive
into the music,
lyrics and instruments
with their own
ups and downs,
yet in perfect coherence
the harmony taking you places,
feels like a nightcap
for some midnight nostalgia
coming back,
you snap out of it
as the sound waves
fade way
in distance
'well, that was a nice little adventure...
onto the next one!',
your mind goes.
an ode to a little midnight nostalgia induced by great music.
Summer Nov 2020
Solitude,
they say, is the drifting glacier
amidst a rolling sea
against a faint yellowish light
at dusk over a particularly misty sky;
you see a white fish washed onshore —
quivering and pulsing,
then stilled.
A fleeting glimpse of the glowing dusk yesterday. It's a very serene, calming kind of color exclusive to the sky that no human touch can wish to reproduce.
bloodKl0tz Oct 2020
I want to die out here with you
I want to decompose in your arms
our flesh slowly growing softer, and softer as our skin rots and our organs decay
our bones slowly growing closer, and closer
until our leg bones are not separated by leg flesh and our hip bones are not separated by hip flesh and our hearts seep together over our rib cages and our skulls press together, chin to forehead
dry leaves tickle our feet and the cool wind soothes our hot bones and the earth covers our clasped hands
until they can no longer tell who was me and who was you
probably 2009ish
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