"darjeeling" poems
You are glancing out of the window
Taking a look at nature's creation
Wisps of your hair gently stroking your face
Feeling a cold wave against you
Walking slowly amidst the misty clouds
The endless curves of the mighty mountain
Spinning your head around
Deep down there lies deathly valleys
Defining life beyond explanation
All you can see is plush green colour
Ranging from warm to tender
While I travel,I try not to grasp at people
By their devotion towards work
An independent river flows curvily to reach its destination
Given much ore of its freedom
Captivating nature in just one go isn't enough
You have to soak in as much as possible
Sure one becomes perplexed at the first sight of the beautiful sunrise
And I bet the day couldn't get that better otherwise
The air had its own charm,its own charisma
While the chants and prayers of monks completed the atmosphere
I smile as I currently jot this poem down
Words fail to express my happiness crown
I say to myself-" This isn't imagination,This is reality"
Confused, are you reader?
My heart beats and quenches for the aroma of green tea leaves
Hmm,I'll miss this heaven on earth,
This place,these people,their lives,their struggles
Their homeland.
Their Birthplace.
So this is my travelogue
And currently you were into my experience
My "Darjeeling Experience"
And not a dream,or a part of paper
Cause its far more than your mere imagination.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Veasna Ta Kvak recording
playback
over Chinatown cafe again
while recounting recent events
to journal pages
muddled from frequent
exchanges bag to bag
(Been to Taipei airport, Bali, Vancouver, most
recently)
blind fate
blind fate
shower me with Indian daisies
and photographs of Railway
New Delhi!
Hanoi Old Quarter/
Vietnam monsoon/
evening on balcony/
Darjeeling water boiled
and filtered anti-malaria
golden drink for honeylungs and
spring-soul morningtide
under moonlight canopy
of Avalokiteśvara
the fruitful
Bodhisattva!
English lessons
and future
hourless
comely chimera
in sleep phenomenon
Benares phantasmagoria YELLOW
(near Mata Anandamai Ghat)
speaking to Aghori
prophecy
Kala Bhairava
FIERCE ILLUSORY APOCALYPSE FAMILIAR
WHERE IS YOUR NOOSE?
the Ganges is full of lice and flowers
candlewax melted into holy water
sickness
equal to
harmony & jubilant
eyeclose and mouthcurl.
The future mysteries in
Mexico City poorboy
$2 mystic orb jade green
reflective underneath
dirt now in North American
bottom white four floor house
basement suite coffee table.
Visions indivisible
from the Viridian roundly haze
but surefire in their accuracy
I'm absolute
and universally formed
for the next few cacophonous
decades!
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
"- The Greasy spoon -"
I wonder if there’s canteens
in Heaven;
with cottage cheese that’s
quite appealing
hob *** biscuits
n darjeeling -- yeah;
Wonder if there's canteens-
in heaven;
Maybe beans on toast
or a Sunday roast
is served by God
the holy ghost,
n his only son is the one-
who pours the gravy;
yeah;
wonder if there’s canteens - in Heaven.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
I.
something within me,
maybe its my amigdala,
misses the oven-turned-gentrified clot,
that great collection of want,
of transient soles-souls.
I miss how we’re piled three stories high,
so close to each others’ mouths that we must
burrow in criss crossed, colliding tunnels
to our point b’s, our job sites,
our lovers’ houses.
maybe it is indeed part of our un-nature to do this,
to cling to one another even
as our unforgiving sungod bakes us whole,
cornish game hens on the el train,
hurdling 40 mph, to and from
our personal hovels, heavens
and bedsheets,
tethered to this place, possibly indentured,
definitely flawed,
where we revel under roofs to prove incredibleness
an virility.
II.
our eyes are not closed today.
they may not blink in unison
as mannequin lids do,
so effortlessly, plastic and mechanical,
but those, we are thankfully not.
for we are flesh,
and air, and miles of gastrointestinal turnpike, if unpinned,
would stretch from here to panama.
we are each of us
a viscous mound called
Sally, Bertram and Queen Mary.
We are the collision of milk flowing, divine,
a whirling dervish
in scalding darjeeling.
we are air,
gliding over enamel into the collective breath
to be devoured so sweetly by others,
as saintly man-scripted gelato,
dribbling down our chins in piazzas.
la dolce ************* vita.
III.
that’s the funny thing about living
in this size 2 world,
the ability to appear anywhere upon its face at a moment’s notice,
to be in front of any face when desired,
to live sans toll booth or customs desk,
to simply dust off our ability to fly
and tumble icarus-adolescent into the collision
between the two blue planes called sea and sky
Jun 7, 2011
Jun 7, 2011 at 9:58 AM UTC
Beautiful Darjeeling in West Bengal I heard you call my name.
Like a siren you have lured me to your slopes and sun filled glades.
How could I resist the urge to come and join you there.
To be assailed by your beauty, smell your perfumed air.
I sit here in your paradise, from my pen the words do flow.
I sit and write of what I see and hear and watch the poem grow.
I know now and the meanings clear. Darjeeling the abode of God.
For only from his mighty hand could such a place be forged.
And so I sit and write of the glory that I see
And as I wonder at the glories another sits with me.
I cannot leave this beauty but alas I have no choice.
I would sing of beautiful Darjeeling but I do not have the voice...
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
Limerick
Anonymous 56
~~~~~~~~~~~
There was an old man from Darjeeling
Who boarded a bus bound for Ealing.
He saw on the door,
“ Please don’t spit on the floor’
So he stood up and spat on the ceiling.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Posted November 27th 2018.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 8:14 PM UTC
Cardinal sun rose
blooming as the
budding flower.
Buddha chants in the
chimes of birds
ethereal caught in gradual hot wind,
Darjeeling tea steam rises on tabletop my
mind is waking over Indonesian morning.
Foreign babel as hours draw even
cacophony of hurricane horns
the Denpasar traffic drumming
chorus midst markets where
radio emitting Li Zengguang
dizi dizzily prancing into the
assortments of spice and coiling fabrics
patterns potent azure and golden
royalty brass clatter caged noise
boiling *** cries the Orient!
Overgrowth spots the charring temples
in majesty and abundance cradling the narrow
Balinese streets while tropic palm
and orchid spring swells the soils.
Ardent sun sheaths eastern archipelagos,
religious offerings canvas sidewalks
incense burning in overwhelming
bouquets of efflorescence smelling
daedal tapestries within the paradise.
Sun goes on setting the jewel easing
underneath the horizon,
butterflies sway in rest
hearts on fire
the ceremonies have finished.
Thunder shrieks against the sea
torrential rain firing on villa ceilings.
My eyes set to sleep
consciousness transitioning
between two dreams.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
I'll tell you Minaz's story.
1. I know a girl from Kolkata,
But lo! She is a stock for laughing.
She is such a big klutz,
She messes up everything.
2. Once she wants to be a singer,
But lo! She can't actually sing.
She tries her best to be melodic,
But is far away from melody.
3. Again she hopes to be a painter,
But lo! She can't actually paint.
She tries her best to be artistic,
But what she draws is far from art.
4. She now takes up cookery classes,
But lo! She can't actually cook.
She tries her best to bake a cake,
But blows apart the oven for the bake.
5. Then she hopes to be a dancer,
But lo! She can't actually dance.
She tries her best to be elegant,
But what she does is more of a prance.
6. Fed up, she tries to be a gardener,
But lo! She can't actually tend to any.
She tries her best to sculpt the hedge,
But what becomes of hedge is only shorter.
7. She goes to a monk in Darjeeling,
Seeking some advice & tells him all.
The monk is a smart one and says,
"Get married to a martial artist and tend to your child."
Now Minaz is happy and is no longer 'The Ultimate Klutz From Kolkata'.
The martial artist husband helped her attain control over herself.
Coming of a child into her world was life transforming for her.
Just a bit of love can work wonders for the life of anyone & everybody.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
I said darjeeling and masochism,
you said
that sounds like a nice day
Chalkboard
Blindfold
Ripped Jeans
take
off
your
glasses
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Risa's eyes looked out from almond shells
glinting in the morning sun
concealing a golden buttercup glow
wrapped round the ragged peaks of the Himalaya's
like an immaculate dust cover
embroidered with a million clean cut diamonds
revealing the majesty of light
pinwheeling over broken shadows
and shattered solitary star-bursts
peeling round mighty boulders flung by giants
breathing new life into ancient stones
sealing prophecies of dancing immortal angels
stealing the remnants of passing moonlight
as the coming day reaches out and cradles
the last vestige of piercing cold night.
This was the daily healing
the warmth upon her young face
the smile appearing that would melt the ice itself
the young girl from Darjeeling
embraced with gifts of seeing
her nubile and youthful grace
belies the hardship and the routine
of carrying spice to the market
she was not yet even thirteen
the Lapis gem of her mothers eye
the little queen of all she surveys
sashays down the cobbled street way
nestled in the lap of the gods
and the praise of summer days.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 8:53 AM UTC
Prometheus gave fire
to humanity and had
his innards guzzled
by vultures for it.
You gave me the sun
and I
unduly set myself
wholly
to the task of tearing
apart your insides.
Top to bottom, I stripped you
strip you,
will strip you
of all that makes you you and
I don't know how to stop
turning your yellow
to orange
to purple
to black
like my innards too. See,
I too once gave fire
to people and lovers and friends and
then
I set myself to the task of
tearing up apart
those various necessities that made me
me. Things like basic human kindness.
Simple rules like don't
involve yourself with so many girls
that you lose count while never losing
count. That sort of
thing, y'know.
Do you know how long I've been
trying to write you a poem called
Darjeeling? I've been trying for
so long that I drink coffee now.
I've been trying for so long that
when the restaurant menu finally
reads 'Darjeeling tea' for so and so
price, I don't pay it and order
some mediocre hot-chocolate instead
(and even a Strawberry milkshake. What
does that say about me, I wonder?).
It was lukewarm. It didn't scald
my tongue like you did.
I suppose it never will.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
dimble dumble,
caught a, thimble thumble
of precious morning dew.
dimble dumble, took his thumble thimble,
full up to rimful.
on his nimble rambull
wooly stu,
careful not to lose,
a drippity drop
of the delicious dew.
they flimble, flambled,
up and overed,
down and undered,
till dimble dumble,
with his thimble thumble, filled to rimful,
on the wooly rambull... came to stumble.
his face a crumble,
as the rimful,
roamed and overflew,
the thimble thumble walls.
a dribble drabble did scribble scrabble,
down the rambulls hide.
dimble dumble
chewed his bottom lip
and cried.
"do not fret my little pet, look there is still enough inside"
wooly stu decried.
"i'll be more staid,as we ride our fortunes, soon will be made."
so,dimble dumble
and his rambull crew,
with thimble thumble recovered,
from the tumble.
on they skedoodledaddled. being careful to protect the remaining morning petal's dew.
after a while, time,
flew with dove like grace and dimble dumble,
with his dudes came
to the the very place, of the rimble romble rumble
and royal rapture rap parade
dimble dumble
and rambull stu on bended knee
and really humble
presented their
thimble thumble
not quiet full to rim still
but delicious and felitious morning dew
to the king awaiting
his purchase and perview.
before its spoiling,
it was boiling,
his kettle singing,
songs a ringing,
to the beauteous,
but not so bountious, morning dew.
dimble dumble
watched the
thimble thumble steam
and bubble blip away.
hands flipping flapping
nose jinkling wrinkling
as the fog blew,
his way boiling dew,
tea leaves darjeeling
with daphne blossoms
was the flavour of the day.
dimble dumble
with thimble thumble
empty now
and too, wooly stu
caught a peek of teacups platinum
holding royal blossom brew before the butler,
with a silly stutter,
sent them on their way,
with dimble dumble
all a fumble,
with a thimble thumble
of goldenboldens,
as his hard work's
reward that day.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
The city falls away, gray, as I rise,
my ladies cozy in the glass lift – to seven.
Ten to four. Spot on. No need to worry.
You’d think it were High Tea – be late; no break.
Between five and six, the blasted thing stops!
Me, stuck in a fog, with the Barrister’s waiting.
Before they moved in, taking up all of seven,
I stayed in the mezz., tipping my ladies to the cups.
The lift jolts, jostling the ladies, rattling their tops.
I move out; cups, cakes and savories in rows, like ducks.
“English Breakfast, Darjeeling, Earle Gray”, I say,
wishing the solicitors away, in court today.
A pinched-face woman, aghast at her clocks, rushes in.
I made inquiries today; for the lease of a storefront next door.
Lin Cava ©
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 3:55 PM UTC
Lapsang Souchong
two sugars n me,
are owft on a charabang
jaunt to the sea,
with pickled egg Mary-
her three pekinese,
who are hairy quite scary
n chopped owft at the knees,
we are bringing darjeeling
and Oolong along
to twiddle their tootsies
and fire up their ****
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
I think I see the mighty hills of Darjeeling.
What magnificence, it is that they bring!
Bold as a King, so high its peak.
Where the oaks grow densely and so do teak.
I think I hear a whistling of Toy Train,
Elevating the twisted track, so slow they gain.
As small as an ant climbing up the King’s feet,
Singing and moving while sounding so sweet.
I think I observe a little streak of falling tear,
Fall from the eyes of Darjeeling, the valiant emperor.
I looked amazingly at the hills of Darjeeling.
All hail Darjeeling! Our benevolent King!
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
One last time I drive past the pinewood
On the fogged road washed with rain
My eyes misted up in melancholic brood
If here I would ever come again.
The winds passing through pine chains
Bid me a whispered farewell
Sulk in silence the clouded mountains
In parting grief somber and pale.
In time afar on a forlorn night
If my dreams soar on wings
Bathed in milky moonlight
They would fly to Darjeeling.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
While out walking with my girlies
Felt a feeling in my curlies
No need to say just what
Had made that feeling in my ....(nether regions shall be used here....but feel free to rhyme away)
I ran into the nearest store
I knew what I was looking for
No need now to name the brand
You'll all know later where I stand
It's obvious who came to visit
You never really want to miss it
Unless you're trying for a kid
Then everyone knows what you did
No need now to be so coarse
But later riding on a horse
I felt a sudden urge to swim
It came to me just on a whim
So off I went out to the pool
Standing there just like a fool
My Esther Williams gene arrived
And on the count of three....I dived
I was great, I did astound
Thankfully..no sharks around
But as I finished in the water
I thought...well now I think I oughta...
Go out running for a while
In four minutes I'd done a mile
Incredibly, I had a feeling
For a cup of good Darjeeling
So I took a small time out
Before I had a boxing bout
Now, this I thought I'd never done
But then again, it could be fun
I was surprised, for I'm quite meek
I only hoped I didn't leak
Remeber when this whole thing started
It wasn't cause I thought I'd farted
Now, truth be told I cannot lie
I'd never give these things a try
But on tv....I saw an ad
And women do these with their pad
So, Playtex is the brand I like
And now I'm off to ride my bike!!!
So slap one on to be athletic
Then you won't be so pathetic
Buy one box and get two free
Playtex is the brand for me!!!
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 5:02 PM UTC
pour some words into my ear
make a nice stout aural darjeeling
no need to sweeten
i like mine hot and strong
in turn, i'll steep your cochlea
Senno Rikyu at your service
master of libidinous liquids
ceremonial titillated ears
then we'll make oolong to each other
i'll brew your longing leaves
ferment your black dragon lips
sip the liquor from your *****
write it up for the society page
tea today at four and Thea pours
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
The night is breathing apartment aroma
and the drunks are tumbling
d o
w n
w a
r d
through marina side
alleys
where the
Jamaican trumpeter
sharpens the brickwork
with clamor
brass rifle bullet sounds.
I get my depression half price at the supermarket,
that man made melancholia/
dehydrating all senses/
gunpowder to a broken barrel.
Sleepless for that distant girl explosive!
She's moving to the big city,
yeah there she goes!
To live in a place where many go to die.
Mango the sky
and ashclouds-
autumnal daisy/
center sunshine/
opalescent ecstasy
reminding one of Indonesia
and Darjeeling balcony evening
on the cubist block
on Kuta
on dreams and nightmares simultaneous
(THE PARANOIA OF PARASITES)
wet air
vapor rain
February pain
in the July bone!
Celebration VOICENOISE
passing phantom
thru paisley sheet
corridor.
Life is strange..
the strangeness of days
receding via the mattress
to time
and memories and
remembering the happenings
of ceremonies
this year
past year
CAVALCADE!
SPECTACULAR STARLIGHT!
OVERVIEW THE FIELD OF TENTS
AND LOVERS!
Life is an unrecognizable chameleon
T R A N S M U T E
to some other color
iridescent
(Where do I go? where do I go?)
Say by December the
name of my Valentine
by boardwalk boreal
and I recall
the current
Summersun
pearl/red
beautiful and beating
(BEDAZZLED LIKE
THE HEART)
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 3:57 AM UTC
First thing in the morning
just as daylight is dawning
what starts me off you see
is a English Breakfast Tea
Then when I commute by train
and the crowds do drive you insane
I try to stay very calm
with a cup of Assam
Then when I get to the office
with inbox filled to the brim
I think ****** it all
and have a cup of Darjeeling
Then by midday
to keep my woes away
I have a sneaky cup
of my favorite Earl Grey
The when work is done
and I want some fun
to heaven I go
with a cup of Ceylon
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 12:41 AM UTC
The Roman empire has fallen
sadness weeps bitter tears
how the mighty became poor old waif
and the west held their jamboree without ignominy
For once they were carried on shoulders in sedan trains
in pomp and ceremony the masters sought safaris and ruled lions
from Goa to Timbuktu the whiff of toast on marmalade n Darjeeling
jackboots and clipped voices rang in plantations n hymns in churches
The Roman empire has fallen
Tea two anti-depressants please
Oh no no how have the mighty fallen
unwanted unloved we cry diminished glory
no invites to Continental parties no lovers in Casablanca
the dusky maidens as footstool are Doctors at the corner Surgery
those hunky dark torsos ferrying cocoa to steamers heading Cardiff
are now earning two hundred thousand grand a week and drive Rolls
The Roman empire has fallen
now we just drink Bitter all the time
the mighty s of the universe are now *******
come see the bullies in the school playground playing the Raj
let me show you a place where four in ten cannot spell enterprising
did you know when not in the Tropics some go for weeks un-bathed
shock and awe jealousy n envy is the new black making them so mad
old n young no self respect, no dignity and now only sad mad bullies
Jun 6, 2019
Jun 6, 2019 at 4:29 AM UTC
The quintessentially British chap, in bow tie at
the table
with a napkin on his lap.
Will ring the bell for tea,
Darjeeling,
preferably.
And with a taste of the empire on his lips,
as he slowly sips the
golden brew,
he wonders
who he can *****
over today.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
i am a cork, set upon
the rapids today.
a storm, rising in
the darjeeling tea.
lightning, in the sugar jar
all bitterred up and jittery.
i am a feather, caught up
in a whirlwind,
on the edge of a cyclone.
running laps incessant, on the
hamster wheel,
of insomulance, that's me.
frenzied, fury, frenetic energy.
revved up, to beyond the max,
caught... tied up in a box with
bright,binding string.
claustrophobically, confined,
ready to explode,
my brain confetti, tizzy-fied.
why you ask?
what's the go?
that's the ****** problem..
i don't know............
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC