"beseeching" poems
My heart I bequeath you
O’ stillness of my universe
I bequeath you my sanity
Spreading this cloak of being in your dust
I bow to your twinkling stars
To the waxing sun and scented grass
I bow to your springing rivers
To the parched grain and blossoming flowers
I bow to the warmth of my lover
And want of my beloved
I bow to your saccharine figs
And honeyed nectar in chalice filled
I bequeath my mortality to your transiency
Blinded by this light in game of ruse
Into your cohesiveness, I fuse
In blinkers to win the race
Espying a king in glass
Presage of being a slave
Yet when darkness falls
I furl my cloak and solemnly rise
For I bow not then
To your barren fields and waning suns
I bow not to your garish colors,
To the cloying drupe and wilted blossoms
Bracing my feeble transience
With my tenet and trail of faith
I bow to the King of kings;
Whilst I beseech for emanating hope,
In my tigers clasp, my God’s rope
I beseech,
Till the noise becomes music again
And as I gaze in the glass now,
All I espy is a beseeching slave
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
*hitherto i naively challenged
my decision to enter an ominous existence
a vicious maze veiled in obscurity
inconceivable to navigate without the accumulation
of bruises, heartache, and psychic mutilation
the torment’s ache so unfathomable
i begged to evaporate beseeching death’s arrival
and with the dexterity of a masterful wizard
i magically spun threads of my shredded soul
into a mangled ball of mental lacerations
then stealthily in the opaque of the night
i rushed the frigid black ocean’s high tide
and deluging myself in the ebony water
i buried the battered ball
now deeply eclipsed in the onyx abyss
it sapped all my strength to hold it under
drowning in the wave’s of sea motion
stinging salt alive on my pours
gasping for air i surrendered my grip
releasing my marred orb of élan vital
capitulating to the sand on the beach
i ceded the fight and watched the sphere roll
unraveling it glistened against the white sand
an opalescent tapestry lit by twilight
mirroring the stars against the coal sky
in the lustrous lunar midnight
reflected back by silver moonlight
littered with specks of fluorescent insight
astonished i drew in my breath as i read
words interlaced in the untangled web
the wounds are there
creating a looking glass
peer in
and you will heal
your own consciousness
©2016janetaylor
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 8:06 AM UTC
<>
you pout and defer, dancing backwards,
claiming, blue is now blackened
from underuse, incapable and incapacitating revival
*saying eyes cannot see, distinctly, neither near or far,
the tremble of love, forgot & distantly absent,
but I know, a heart’s sensory muscles never die,
though weaken they might, underused, un-exercised
denying that inspiration
no longer resides with in thy sensitivities,
has fled, undercover of smoking forest fires
all the diurnal hazards that invade, occupying
my internal spaces once filled by poems
you conceived, birthed, in a pleasured haze,
came so fast, you bare recall agony accompanied,
but not the ecstasy of the end resultant!*
***you know it’s you of whom I write, but,
a note not shaming names, but messages
countless private messages have I sent
begging, beseeching, give me your gifts***
once more, you owe me not, though I
oft irritate with my deafening pleas,
yet only denials continue, my pleas ding
but dent not, the tired fear of your exposition
so speak to you plain,
feed my soul selfish
like in years gone past,
there are holes in mine
that require your elixir,
creamy softness that moistens
my face with tears of your words
originating, astound, enfold**
not later, not soon, not excusals,
write for me NOW, WRITE FOR YOURSELF,
but leave me not forsaken and thirst un-slackened,**
Answer! To whom do you owe your poems?
Jun 11, 2023
Jun 11, 2023 at 11:30 AM UTC
1
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.
2
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets:
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds;
No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—Would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.
3
Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.
4.8k
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
let me begin my salutation to you
by expressing my angst about your ghastly night experience
that you go through when in the hands of the policemen
who often walk around in the name of security patrols
while in truth they bettle terror in the show of evil mighty
they swop you down and arrest you spreadeagled
asking for bribes substantially the money of your proceeds
from the ware of your trade your body the temple of christian God,
Wherever your lack money
your beauty saves you as they go on to **** you in circles among themselves
as they glorify the power of your bossom in their policeman's slang,
where beauty , tyranny of bossom and your bribe is absent
you are forlornly arrested from the streets of Nairobi and Lagos or Johannesburg
then rounded down to a dingy police cell to be charged
with heinous crimes of prostitution and vagrancy,
when the true origin of your fortune's tomfoolery
is powers that be as they glorify anti woman crude cultures
beseeching a girl child into despair and depravement,
they are these men who refused to see you as a beacon of glory
they always link you to the filthy bedrooms from which you ennoble not.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
201
Two swimmers wrestled on the spar—
Until the morning sun—
When One—turned smiling to the land—
Oh God! the Other One!
The stray ships—passing—
Spied a face—
Upon the waters borne—
With eyes in death—still begging raised—
And hands—beseeching—thrown!
3.5k
May 23rd, 2019
I first felt the ferrous fissures
Delivering shivering quivers
Down my spine
As each chime took the sight
Outside our present days
Then the shakes grew into tension
My naked, sobering suspension
Was left never to mention
Nor whisper what I needed to say
And when I asked you of this
You withdrew so quick
I only had time to trace the lines
Of your last escaping shadow
Holding on to tentative strings
And all the small things
You left for me to find
The same gray forests of signs
And plaintive silent ways
Designs you used to craft
And convey with clever ease
Laughter once beseeching my thoughts
Silence now haunting my dreams
These memories are now
Presently looming
Cold coniferous trees
It's not as if I can pretend
Like simply taking paper and pen
Could possibly remedy this
While I have to look down
At the ink staining my foot
Ankle and wrist
I'm convinced that I created this fate
Because in this picture frame
I'm the only one who made a mistake
*You carry the hate in your heart
like it's been privileged to you*
*My misgivings have adopted
the persona that I imbue*
*I faced the other way as we faded
when you withdrew*
*You suffered daily
and faced this struggle alone*
*Claiming everybody abandoned you
and did you wrong*
*-But you don't lose me
Like I've told you all along*
RE: August 23rd, 2021: - but now you've lost Me with the same old song
May 7, 2019
May 7, 2019 at 2:20 AM UTC
objects in the distance may be closer than they appear
how many thousands of times
these words mirrored blankly upon my eyes
only today did I-read them accurate
from the nowhere from a great void
someone stepped and lifted me from a
rubbled prone
where there were no options
asking for nothing
over and over I beseeching
now I see
in the mirror
those words
I see only them
in the heart human
the object so close
it writ upon my face
proudly
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC
*November 29th, 2014
Dear Chris:*
I miss you dear, I'd like to say.* Though it's been six months, thoughts of you are here to stay. My words turn to putty and I wish to form them like clay because there's so much to you I wish to convey. I've been traveling and unraveling the belt loops of life, and striding through gliding on ice skates from strife. I don't know if still I can sing the same tune. Our dreams from the Bay have been vexing me; perplexing me since June. The ring you gave me has my fingers swollen like my head, just like a balloon! And I don't know if it makes me sullen to confess when you asked for my hand, even hypothetically, I was to be your wife complete with white dress. Somewhere along the line that dream has changed. Though I feel that this letter was written selfishly. I really must say.. All I know is that I miss you Chris, I have missed you since May.
-Adeline
December 1st, 2014
Adeline:
I was wanton and flagrant when your letter was received. I was bounding and bursting; hardly contained in my seat. Your familiar fragrance beseeching my heart's conceit, and in your confidence said that you're missing me. Until the usual silence declares again it's already half past three. Time to wash away delusions that are causing my hope to reek.
Still..
Certainly there will be another chance to hear from you next week.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 3:02 PM UTC
Happy birthday Marian
A thousand mem'ries of you
blow across my mind
tiny miracle of life
held close to a mother's heart
Today you turned twelve
still I see my sweet baby
smile into my eyes
no flute to give thee
harp or cello have I none
chilled by poverty
hungry mouths to feed
our furry little darlings
their eyes beseeching
if I had more time
I would play croquet with you
and dress dolls again
hear a mother's heartfelt cry
baking loaves of bread and rolls
planning simple meals
May this humble poem
a token of my love prove
my dearest daughter
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
High ground
I concede to you
in the disproportion of a time allotted to you
for the choice of robe to grace
a glorified cameo around your flesh
like a sheet designated for an overthrowing
in an honorary statue's unveiling
Liturgy is looming in the bathroom
already hot-boxed in the metal waterfall's
mist of moisture and the mountain range of bubbles
I have settled comfortably into in wait
High ground
awaits your hallowed prance
into the concealed languish of your man's
dangling imagination
I salute you with incentive
through a lowering of eyes made necessary
by your towering above my horizontal soak
I'm beseeching you to wield royal sway
over the humility of my reclined posture
with the hidden scepter of your body
fated to dictate the pace of my
anticipated knighting
The gentle thud of fabric on linoleum
incites a turning of my head to take in
the litany of parts available to my
frenetic feels and jumbled focus
Stationary in your naked smile of proximity
you extend to me excessive time to entertain options
as I coat myself in lukewarm opportunities
and rise to meet you for a bathing in my excess wetness
I accelerate my exit to negate the bubbled tribuataries
sliding to the floor to meet the remnants of your mystery
The wall is cold and you protrude
haplessly to meet the rapid chilling of my undried frame
Warmth is of the essence
Fingers split your hair in celebration
of our uniform heights and I feel you slouch
signalling our first hint of friction
and a twitch in my diviner of your cradle of essential warmth
Do you realize you now rescind creative license?
Or have you filled the snare of your intentions?
Now your balance shivers in the mercy
of my curled leg of leverage
and an coiled arm collecting your ambrosial attributes
like an ice cream scoop
Uniform heights allowing eye contact
makes optional the visual acknowledgment
of my elastic hunting in the smooth field of your breast
with a dancing thumb
I connect and latch onto what is now
our binding axis and shuffle eye contact
with the universal rhythm of a pelvic power ballad
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
Can you see the precious releases as they dissipate
Inviting ardent admiration from us all
Appeasing the beseeching eyes of so many of us here
In the scattered dispersing of their fall
Such luminous wonders sustained by minute gestures
Of clarity in their mystical opaque releases
Appearing at first glimpse to stream from above
As if from the floodgates of secret places
A bountiful acclaim can be seen in the new animation
Of the recipients of these precious releases
As they blissfully absorb new life into their essence
Pleasing our eyes, with a beauty that never ceases
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
Carrie, how does your garden grow?
Are the souls of your enemies
Buried beneath your personal cemetery?
The victims on their knees
Begging, beseeching, pleading
Praying to you and the same God for
Things to be as they were before
With silver bells, Carrie?
Are your nails sharpened to a point,
Itching to break bones at the joint?
To snap my wrists and tie
Them up - your peace of mind
Tortment me, ****** Carrie
Smirk and laugh before you bury
And cockle shells, Carrie?
Are you seen as a pleasurable fantasy?
A mask of terrible daydreams?
Your body caresses the loaded gun
He swears that pain is one with love
You are an instrument of pure torture
Who is viewed as a delicate sculpture
Are your pretty maids in a row?
Are we in a straight line
Waiting to be punished for our crime?
Your foolish prey meet the guillotine
One swift motion - sliced clean
Hail Carrie, the ****** empress,
Queen of deciet, and ***** mistress
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Hypnotizing Swirl
The last time I saw you, my mind was an intensified and frigid blast from the polarized north.
I held onto your body and our breath emitted a spiritual corona which enveloped us in love.
We dwelled within a single abode intertwining our illuminated vessels.
Within this shrine resides the sacred enamorment that placed me in a trance…
-A hypnotizing swirl.-
Spirited away, in this moment, I moon the time away awaiting the evolution, the bloom, the metamorphosis, the efflorescence of your quintessence.
Like a delicate orchid of the brightest evergreen stem.
An exuberant and illustrious flower, a symbol of our love, it has intertwined our beings with the seeds of rejuvenation sown into our souls.
Today when I see you, like a broken record in my mind, I am detached.
I am a juggernaut, a sentinel who guards sanity within the confines of an indomitable fortress.
My dream has been nurtured in a pink dreamer’s chest; my treasure is a myriad of aromatic petals sealed away.
Upon this parcel, the benediction of amor has been bestowed.
Moonbeams and iridescent butterflies dwindle upon its rosy and stout exterior.
The Universe’s tears glimmer upon the castle walls housing my fantasy, my tenuous and ethereal hope bound to break at any moment.
-An epiphany can change things you know.-
“How do I know that my beseeching cries shall reach the Transcendental in the Realm of the Tenuous and Divine?”
-Only faith and virtue can allow me to reach the pinnacle of my desires-
To a Shattered and Reassembled Dream.
By, Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
If only there were words
to the unspoken verses
when silence is the only sound
More than only
near paralyzing torn,
weary of searching endlessly
for what cannot be found
silence whispering poignantly
drowning out the midnight rain,
There is no more sorrow
in search of the lost
unstrummed guitar chords
Unwritten psalms
forever left unsung;
without amity,
woe betides an unfinished,
abandoned heart's song
Only a heart lonely knows,
there is no absolving darkness
whispering of screaming silence
by night and by day:
"all things must steal away"
not to be thought of wanderings end
as a velvety-crimson rosebud
shamelessly withers brown
Swirling eddies stir
a black swan of loneliness
swimming within the flood
of raven river waters'
silently eclipsing
its pitch black flow
Muted pleas silent as pity
blowin' in the fleeting windsong,
speaking in beckoning salutations
singing in sweetly beseeching tongues
Like the hush of a pensive soul,
once touched by another, moved
like a bedrock marrowed mountain
left stifled, stranded and wondering,
feeling an awkward silence
when the leaves come falling down
There are no misbegotten promises
cast lightly in the moonlight’s restless spell;
there is no solacing stillness
when silence is the only sound...
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 8:46 PM UTC
I watched you silently from my place amid the masses
As you sat alone on stage
Around you stood the empty chairs
Still awaiting instruments and bodies
But you didn’t seem to notice
Slowly drawing the bow across the strings
While fingers danced seemingly unaided
I sketched you then in my mind so that I might always remember the way your brow was furrowed
Hair astray in the fashion most expected by a being that has not slept in as many days as artists of unheard merit are apt to do
I traced the joints of your fingers curled around the dark wooden handle almost, but never touching the off white fabric that stretched between one point and the other
In my mind I found I could only liken you and your appearance to that of others I had only read of
All fictional of course
Here a wayward detective long since run down but never out sank his sorrows in a bottle while his mind fractured but still brilliant carried on
But then there were so many others that also came to mind, each tugging at the corners of my imagination with passionate desperation
Attempting in the only way they knew to be the sole capture of my attention
In this corner I found a journalist well traveled as he was versed, with the quality beseeching that of a gentleman hidden under two days worth of growth
But perhaps your likeness might be more suited to the air of a more scientific mind, secret genius cultivating cures for every kind of illness while still trapped in the depths of madness
I sat and watched as you played unnoticed for what seemed to me just a moment but was far more then that as my mind turned over the possibility of all the people you could have been
But when asked softly why didn’t I rise from my unnoticed place and put to rest my chaotic thoughts by moving close to speak to you if only for a moment
I resisted
What could I say to let them understand the path my mind had run
How I was unwilling to leave my seat, held there by this slight fear
That if I dared to find my voice, to rise and cross the space between the seats… to draw close enough that you might see me
All that I had imagined you to be would be crushed or somehow dulled by the harsh light of reality
You might not be a gentleman, suave and smooth with charm or reflect even a bit the madness of a scientist whose sanity has long since gone…
You might be so far from the truth that I’d never write this poem
So I sat silently in my place amid the masses
Watching you draw your bow across the strings while your fingers danced unaided
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
on the day
we obviate all wars
our eyes shall see
a new dawn
as brothers and sisters
of the earth
we'll bear witness
to tranquility
history's pages
wrought in killing stains
conflicts repeated
too many times
our planet's inhabitants
all so blind
they see not
the dove of peace
man has forgotten
the tenant
of loving
thy neighbor
as an awful consequence
the gun rules with might
unto the drum
of nonviolence
man has not yet
begun to march
lay down
the sword of war
as it gravely
shadows all nations
on the horizon
a light doth flicker
beseeching man
to live cordially
dark clouds ever
they're looming
which path
shall man walk upon
the high road
leads to quiet
arms dispensed with
and deposed
pursuing the trail
of rancor
brings but
discordant clashes
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
(Commemoration of Earth-Day, 22nd-04-09)
Earth hath
Been Weeping!
Nature lacerated & pleading?
Extinct species beseeching;
Antarctica mercilessly melting,
Noxious gaseous emissions heating.
Have you ever wondered?
“Of the Greek mythology!”
women warriors of Scythia astray burned off the
Right ***** to try
to habituate the bow and arrow in sly,
arsenals of terror abound harsh shear ploy!
Hitherto, the atrocious force upon Nature ne'er stops.
Wherefore-now the lost leaf of the conifers?
Searching for the nearest route to the Savannah Plains,
Waiting pro the long anticipated cascades of the tropical rains. Babylon wrests & clinches intimately thy adored hanging gardens that black slaves tend no more hasten. Euphrates in the Persian Gulf wanders uncertain; Everest looks down in pitiful scorn…
As it wobbly looses its molecular activity in pain.
Humanity squirms in an enamored Trance
to heave a foundation Of conscious Purpose
That Earth day waits Upon us
To elucidate a divine Hypothesis.
~~/|\~~
Namaste'
~~\|/~~
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 4:49 AM UTC
Enchanted on my face
Public disgrace
Red boils down
Sheets a-torn
Feet adorn
Bare-less
Bar-less
***** & Distaste
Eyeliner and Cold sandwiches
Cod Liver Oil and Pokemon
Her eyebrows, they dance
Symmetrical and killer
Piercing my soul
Dark brown dinners.
The red mountain on the very tops of her skull
Framed by lion's mane
Beseeching eyes
Full lips
No kisses; birthmark of this
Teenage...Ageing
She's a fragrant fairy and I am a mountain top
Towering over the gangly red
No metal, yet no way to go ahead.
"Nothing to be done" yet "Beauty is truth, truth beauty"
Frankness is her subtlety
Raw age
Stark immaturity; pierced around a face of a lady of twenty.
I'd offer you wine, but a girl like you would prefer a coffee
Pick up this twenty, call me when you are thirty.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
<|>
“***IF we are each created in His image,
how glorious is the diversity of our deities***,
*each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau
of a small planet, insignificant but
uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,*
“deities~human”*
<|>
wise enough to know mine philosophical shortcomings,
for they are many,
insufficient wisdom, more than sufficient laziness,
but sometimes even the o b v i o u s
strikes a rhyming chord,
even so, delving into God’s image
is for the foolhardy,
ergo ipso facto,
I am that,
that fool
but the boundaries of common sense poetry,
offer healthy delimitations,
and as rhe day wanes, eyes go blurry,
I am content to laurels~rest:
I do not count the times,
I’ve called out my beseeching deities,
I do not count the numbers of names,
we have designated and available for them,
or how many I’ve employed, and which replied
or the varied shapes they assumed,
to get my attention,
but this is a poem,
cannot leave you hanging,
if you paid your dues for joining me this far:
the due is due you:
them
(their ONLY pronoun),
keep their answers
short and oft inexplicable,
yet strangely satisfying,
for being a deity
they employ common sense,
and the answers frequently found
on a list of Frequently Answered Questions (FAQ‘s)
the most common response,
“but you already knew that!”
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 8:26 AM UTC
Content, with a tinge of love,
I repent
All I've given up.
Realize what I've surmised
Is a traversed trial of fire.
Higher, higher;
The atmosphere you admire:
Lighter breathing,
Muscles beating,
Entreating my desire.
A pyre,
The phoenix feeling renaissance:
The lover's having ---
Once the want to be satisfied ---
Which was, while shattered, reconciled ---
Compiled a mile-long list
To mist the ever-flowering tree
Of prospect,
Respecting past
Opinion.
Your dominion over my
Ever-subjugating heart
(Pulsating a Morse message)
Belittles meaning in
Stockholm Syndrome,
For I am no
Shackled drone;
And, forever,
This you've known.
We are symbiotic.
We are psychotic.
Celeritous symbols
Sampling this:
Extended metaphor.
Extempore, we entertain and
Adore each other,
The world we are to each.
So: teach me how you look
With beseeching reach
Into deep territory in sleep;
Incept directly
And affect me
Romantically.
Augment what is meant and true.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:20 PM UTC
I was breathing in the beauty of Scala dei Turchi,
as I sat atop pure white marlstone crescendo,
etched by the winds and the rains of time;
the view emphatically embracing the coast of Agrigento.
‘Twas along those balbutient banks of the Mediterranean sea
I saw him silently standing there,
his hands resting in white linen pockets,
the salt wind blowing through his peppery hair.
Serenely somber in quiescent stillness,
he was dashingly debonair,
his form earnestly beseeching, a wish
delicately wrapped in the guise of a prayer.
He peeled his stare away from crystal waters clear,
I was transfixed by eyes that gallantly gazed at me;
eyes that emerged from pools of a deep sorrow,
eyes as transparent as the turquoise blue sea.
Deftly ascending those limestone cliffs,
he was reminiscent of Saracen pirates penetrating;
with such determination of gait and surety of purpose,
he approached me with palpable power emanating.
His drawing near sent my heart swiftly a-pounding,
a halo of light behind his sun-kissed face –
I imagined I saw a shadowed smile emerge
as he nonchalantly quickened his pace.
He took his place beside me
atop the pure white marlstone crescendo;
and we waited for the sun to descend,
against the skies of beautiful Agrigento.
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
Beseeching words
genuinely rooted from
the wounded, rotten heart
whispering
to the cold, thin air of
"I have nothing left to say---"
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 1:40 PM UTC
my heart is a gasoline guzzler
running on the fumes of burned out
memories, thoughts, and breaths.
my veins play jump rope with my bursting capillaries
and beneath the seam of every heartbeat
is an arrhythmia that smiles back.
no longer is every intake an oxygen a dutiful task.
rather i, as a sovereign animal
convert the anguish into carbon dioxide
because i don't care for the proton pumps
or the electron chains. i am negatively charged
and hidden inside this bubble is a dark cycle
beseeching for the spotlight.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
In the villa in Sharja,
A banyan tree stood, stuck to the wall of the building.
Mind throbbed as soon as it caught sight of it,
Touched it to my forehead in reverence,
Remembered my father who understood trees.
In the book she has kept closed,
It should be possible to still see
The memory veins of a leaf-
Plucked after touching its soul and seeking permission.
‘It is a sign of prosperity,
It cleanses the atmosphere’, Mary too said.
New tenants came in the room vacated by Priyan and Anjana
Jaya aunty and her husband said that they wore skull caps
Narayanan, wearing sacred thread and sandalwood paste on his forehead,
Anthony with rosary and sacred amulet
After them,
Youngsters of this type were not seen so nearby
One night, when I went out of my way to touch that tree,
I heard speech of a rhythmic nature
From the room of those who wore caps
It passed through my mind, ‘these are times when words become music.’
It was a Friday.
While watering Basil plants,
Saw the branches of the banyan on the ground.
Its leaves, like heart shattered..
Whitish veins drained of blood
my eyes hurt
As I ran to it,
Saw the tree,
Looking like a worshipper whose hands were cut
While crying, beseeching the heavens , arms outstretched.
Father,
You used to say that there were many types of trees
Which tree is used to make crosses to crucify humans, Father?
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC