"bylanes" poems
Strange whimsical winds,
Drifting across the city bylanes; as if some poet's nomadic dreams.
Whether it's gloomy nights or bright mornings,
Winds won't stop; as it can't differentiate these things.
Storming through the strange alleys,
There's none so place which stays windless.
Whether roaring blizzard or soothing breeze,
It pierce people's soul with discriminating ease.
In half agony and half hope,
I looked back and forth,
Could not get a glimpse of you in this unseen natural wrath.
Uncertain of my fate; I must depart,
To find you in my lonely heart.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 4:33 AM UTC
I took a trip down the ecstatic abyss of Amoria
Through narrow crooked bylanes and juniper dumpsters
Peering through moments of insipid laughter
Prime pranksters, nerdsters and gooseberry gangsters
Languishing through marauding beauracratic rituals
Peering through unexpected ideals and benign gestures
Then out in this rugged terrain lay the bear with cold feet
Eyes like blessed blue whales and timid water hyacinth
Narrow corridors of limbs endowed with firm yet hollow muscles
Tuberculosis and octopus gunk lay smeared in every nostril
"Ah! Nauseating yet divine!" said the knight to the pitiful jester
Rowan Moses
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 10:51 PM UTC
1
Bark, say, those who probed its meaning deep,
is a complete dog language;
but many others argue against;
say, this idea itself is nonsense.
when you hear the bark of a dog remember, meaning is not the same every time,
either happy or sad is every bark!
some could well be shouts of protest.
breaking the ruminating silence of the young night
in to hundred tiny pieces,
a dog, count him a vanguard, barks,
over and over again, like ***** is possessed.
sounds like a long pending complaint,
to the heartless master,
insistence on not restricting the rights
"Let me be off
from this leash
for a while"
a dog's days are painfully long,
but even meager demands, mercilessly neglected.
that's a dog's life perfect!
the love showered on occasions,
and care taken, excessively at times, come with riders.
2
Now two dogs, with throaty barks,
compete to outbark each other-
(...to settle an acrimonious dispute,
going on for how long,
who knows!)
'kind souls, at your dinner tables,
please intervene,
even dogs deserve their peace'
the bark goes tapering in to the night..
3
A woofing predator- like dog,
with a bark that easily could startle, any heart,
suddenly falls silent,
like all his engines have failed!
what ever has happened, one can't guess!
4
A sleeping dog
(his barks suggest that)
breaks the lull again,
barking harshly at a dream,
that threatens ,(perhaps)
a sudden bark, like a bullet,
catches the opponent unawares and hit.
(the foe, howled aloud,
till the moment falling dead,
one imagines!)
5
The bylanes are now littered
with, many kinds of barks,
mutilated, dissolved,
vanished, floating in the air,
quickly forgotten, as it's harsh;
swiftly passing dark night,
with the help of sweeping winds
collects and packs,
all barks
in to a bag of silence
and walks on quick.
6
Top dogs do not belong to this club,
they are always noted for their
braided silence;
none ever hear their barking sound,
--such a secret, not even a growl!
**they are known for their bites,
each one is different.**
OOO
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 11:54 AM UTC
Fast more fast and a faster drive
Speed not kills but saves his life
Reach quicker and deliver more
Matters only numbers of door.
Someone's son someone's heartthrob
Forgets all when hard on job
Quick quicker on quickest mode
Bike wheels burn on asphalt road.
In lanes bylanes must find address
Can't afford one small recess
A brief meeting and end of deals
Pocket bunched with paid bills.
Around moon is a haloed mist
But night is one cruel beast
Won't let him look above
Think of a poem sweet in love.
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
I'm sorry if my poems don't bring you happiness
thrills of joys and cheers
to liven up your day.
when that happens
give me my failure's blame
for my mind couldn't tame
the sad-istic urge
to clothe them and dress
the figures in distress
on the bylanes and streets
trodden inglorious
for a poet to regret
he couldn't make his poems the way
they made your day!
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 5:14 AM UTC
racing with the heartbeat
along the black striped road
pumping pedals, dreaming
entrances exits lanes bylanes
timing out and in
thinking cap on
music keeping pace
i am home
here in the small city
coffee smells like coffee
people smile like people
trees look greener
the church stands out
lakes glisten with shivering skins
children play happily
i park in the park
i am here
sojourn into nights
at break of dawn
i will return to point B
fulfilled with 250 miles
of ecstasy.
the poems rise from the mist
of bygone memories
and words tumble waterfalls
of lust and longing
where is she?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 4 days ago
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:00 PM UTC
a small man dies somewhere
he doesn't make news
they are no news
herds of small men dying everyday.
big men only capture the headlines
big politicians big deceivers
no petty thieves or pickpockets
but swindlers of nations
you are awed by the headlines
the big bold letters
big disasters mishaps
genocide mass extinction
and may miss in one corner
a news of a man of no imprint
a small man's death in small print
*an ill-paid half starved courier
his head crushed by a brick somewhere
not a thief nor a beggar
but looking forever
an address to deliver
going from door to door
with his back breaking loads
on alien bylanes and roads
where someone suspecting him a thief
broke his head with a brick*
the small man in his death
made it to the news
only if you noticed it
from under big prints.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
It was an exceedingly hot and sultry summer day in the bylanes of Kabul. Lt.Sameer Sharma had missed the chance of catching the prodigal engineer turned terrorist Abdul at the marketplace.But now he had an ace in his deck,the enigmatic Dr.Rizwan, a doctor by day and spy by night.
Here they were near a warehouse at a nondescript military base.Any second now,a glimpse of the adversary could be caught.
"Over there",shouted Rizwan,pointing his gun towards the massive box.As deftly as a cat ,Sameer slowly moved towards the box.It was a cat.
Another voice was heard in the floor above.It was Abdul.
He ran.
They ran.
It could all have been over in a minute.Years of espionage and intelligence work boiled downed to one chase.
They chased. A chance . The only chance.Four shots were fired.
They saw the corpse.They were jubilant."Finally" cried......
"Finally",cried Musa as he shared a smoke with Rizwan.
There laid the body of Lt.Sameer in a pool of blood.
Betrayal had never been more stylish.
The End.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 11:56 AM UTC
The beaming sunlight touches upon a face
Staring at the life passing by without hope or whim
The mundane life seems set for him
His wares lie neglected and dejected
The religious fervour around the temples
The murmurs of the hurried man reach his ears and meant nothing
The waft of aromatic food meant nothing to him
Yet they were once part of his memory
When the beads of perspiration meant
The sale of the day and how the journey ended in happiness
But the colours in his basket remain only the rainbow in his memories
Rueful and ephemeral, he basks in melancholic certainty
The streets are paved with strange humans
Using phone like toys attached to their eyes
Like a child who wanted the most delicious candy
And couldn’t let it go out of sight
The hustle and bustle tire him out
Maybe the world needed his removal
But his dream still takes him into the
Bylanes where hope and a smile shone
And delved into nothingness
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
Some people don’t feel the heat.
It is because of those who don’t feel the heat,
that the empty paddy fields turn green,
the roads and bylanes stay clean.
the vehicles of noisy people move without obstruction.
Because of those who don’t feel the heat,
non-motorized rickshaws still move,
hand-pulled carts still survive.
Because of them,
gift packets, perfumes, birthday cakes
reach homes on time.
Some people don’t feel the heat,
and perhaps because of them
– even though fire and smoke pour daily from your mouths –
the earth has not turned to ash,
the city has not yet perished.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 10:29 AM UTC
You sauntered in, relaxed
And curled up in your favorite chair
Waiting patiently for time
Offering me the warmth of your lap
A silent caress, a lingering embrace
And I - lost in the sunny bylanes of joy
Inhaled the fragrance of nostalgia
Soaked the fleeting moments of togetherness
And then - as if not to wake me
You gently slid away, one moment at a time
Careful not to shatter
Into a million fragments
My little piece of heaven.
© Esther Paul
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 2:14 AM UTC
“I like cars with big butts’ she said.
“The ones with soft interiors and big joysticks
That you hold while racing down at 70 mph
Down straight highways swerving through bylanes
And bursting into breeze and wide open spaces!”
Spent. The exhausts thunder . Throttles down and grazing
Hear the sound of engines purring?
“I like the old Mustangs” she said
“They growl back at you throttle deep,
Crunching up the pussycats
Mewing on the slow lane”
“I like tequila that’s naughty
No aftertaste, a coupla shots
A hot bonnet to warm you back
And a piston that does a six stroke
Slow ride
As we race to a finish on the salt lakes”
“ Don’t you like Mercedes?” I softly queried
“ Nah” she replied curtly.
“ But it starts with an M too?”
“Oh yeah, its got no twang in it though!”
I surrendered to the sound of giggles.
We pulled up near a parking lot
And she slid into a vacant slot
Both **** and front touching.
Menagerie of cars parked perfectly.
I admired her driving skill.
Author Notes
Yeah, its about cars. Get your mind outta the gutter will ya?
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
Hard to take a step back,
When million miles remain forward,
It took me years to get to the highway
Passing through many bylanes
But I need to know where I am going
has beautiful scenery I wish to explore
I am not looking for lost paradise
Nor do I want to walk the barren lands
I want to experience eternal sunshine
not chase behind pretty butterflies
that won't stay in the palm of my hand.
Nov 11, 2021
Nov 11, 2021 at 10:46 AM UTC