"ardors" poems
The nightfall smears a biding shade and plume
as Nyx complexed the clear diurnal day
and skews the stoic lensing out of gloom
alike the hearted Eros, wrought his sway.
How still the specks of frost on balm and reed
like stars arranged in view for crystal eyes,
and glazed upon the tips; a sweetened mead
which lovers strive in truthful, purple prize.
A sullen stratus coats the idle orb
succumbs the amber beams to patchy lure,
and from within uncertain skies absorb
a kindred duel; dreamers must endure.
Tonight, the morrow, all thereon to be
to ardors flux; at night is when to see.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 2:57 PM UTC
At the height
of their pursuit of elusive light,
in the inner core deep,
they set about
translating the ardors of night
in to a sublime fire
that would lead them
to a new awareness.
She had a deftness
that crossed limits and
found new possibilities
in any thing she did.
Art of body coupled with
urges of the heart
she transformed with her magic:
a tree full of scented flowers
that are dreams of eternal spring.
He had spread creepers,
on the foliage and chunky trunk,
with his caresses,
she forgot herself completely as the pleasure
swept over her every cell.
Continued embraces tight and passionate,
anointed them with perfumes,
in their quest they collected star dust,
from her swelling sculptured *****
he inhaled narcotics and got high.
Sea breeze covered them
with fine grains of salt from far away waves,
and an ancient mariner's quest.
A sublime fire simmered
in their nerves.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
This is the story of a box
and a girl.
And this box –
and this box
was like no other box – No,
like no other box that owned its existence.
Eons of history lived on its walls – I mean, moved on its walls,
I mean, carvings of history played out on the walls
Waves smashed their own heads onto ocean floor dunes,
The lightning swung fierce on the clouds into squalls,
The engravings – the caves shook with war, the volcanoes,
They spat and they hissed, and the nymphs in their watery mists
Danced with haloes on graves of the fallen.
The lifeblood, it pulsed through the veins of this box,
Through the veins of my palm as I held it, the carvings,
They danced with their raw, starving ardors, their bloods and their stardust
And lifeblood, it seeped, lotus droplets, it leaped onto grooves of my skin
Splashed as sparks on my skin and spilled into my palms,
Till my body was filled with the life of this box, with the thrums of this box, with the force of this box
Till the sweet little voice called my name through this box
Whispered, “Open the lid and release me. This box
Is my prison. I’ve risen through hellfire and sunlight and war-blood,
And isn’t it time for the earth to revere me? I am Hope,
I am weary; I am tired of Death and Despair huddled near me
I yearn for the taste of the earth and the Furies
Release me, my vassal, unchain me, release me.”
This is the story of a box
and a girl,
and a thrum, and a voice, and a palm, and a life -
and a war, and a choice, and a hope, and a price,
and a voice that implored me to open the lid
through the trembling, quivering walls,
and I did.
Mar 13, 2020
Mar 13, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
let's dance on fate's might!
Though the cruelty , the fate allocated
Let's be certain as it had to be fated
Despite the diverse colors he showed
And in spite of the demise ardors he owed
Let's mend the wreckage offered by this fall
The storm is over you and I are still standing tall
Let's re-write the hymns, by what once he abide
Hymns of our longings which we couldn't hide
Let's wander our darkened way
Let's try to catch a glimpse of a shining day
Let the beat flow through the lap of night
Let's keep on dancing on fate's might!
~vairagya
Aug 27, 2024
Aug 27, 2024 at 1:00 AM UTC