"deathless" poems
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!
Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!
To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!
The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!
Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC
Zero is enduring
zero is deathless.
Nothing is up to it
none can mirror it
though forever
it's an open case.
The eyes are yet to
see an open face!
Because like it's
nothing is in perfect shape
purely a perfect circle!
Nothing matches it
as like Fathima is none else!
Ever more sprawling pi decimals
never go unnoticed propelling
to the end surge before her.
Before the original one
Fathima is yet to be mirrored.
All the planets turn circular
before the unseen perfect circle.
Fathima nails it snapped it up
circled it with her hair!
Before the furthest sighted eyes,
the dot at the earth's centre
at its pool of primitive water.
Fathima embeds in a loop of her hair
thus supercharges the water!
It finds the cut, the golden ratio,
constant continuity in her hair's inner flow.
And the Big Bang happened
there, their breakthrough!
The potential worlds to be
from the first drop of water
she gets them all buzzed out.
From down the rock bottom,
from the zero null
Fathima finds and raises the sun!
Nothing is comparable to it on the ground
nor up on the high, we only see the fire
of a heavenly phenomenon is beyond the sight!
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 12:06 AM UTC
She is pyramidon spreads down the pyramid
Led by him up the pyramid that keeps climbing high.
Continues to straighten his straight line but her
curve off the top embraces full is an enduring spiral!
Off the apex of the pyramid the butterfly has slipped out
Still a circle still a cut whatsmore is concealed in the pi?
Future is in now, deathless in death only a pi away!
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 11:20 AM UTC
The Eid is bustling with joy
come let’s give it a try
f
l
y
away!
To the deathless groovy paradise
floating high on the elixir flow:
The triumphant joyous wave
streamed up from the secret bottom line!
Up above the lapis lazuli sky.
A pair of butterfly basks
in the sunlight
quietly indulges in style.
It goes on in slow motion
illuminating the night a firefly
perches on a slice of the Moon
flanked by the moonlight.
But you and me
we will rhyme and chant
in our lovely mother tongue.
In the same original lingua
like ‘Adam speaks up and all
angels listen in paradise’.
Come let’s give it a try
f
l
y
away!
On the wings of the moonlight
we will
s
a
i
l
away!
Ambling by the Moon
we'll **** through the starry nooks.
Eyes open and gently perched
atop a star for a moment or two.
We will see miles of galaxies
over the moonlit lakes of the blue
playing cool ravishing lutes!
The spring night is in bloom
and the cute sleeping beauty
wakes up playing the flute!
Musical half lights filling the sky.
Come let’s give it a try
f
l
y
away!
We’ll drink sharaban tahura
the holy wine of paradise
and once for all we will
k
i
s
s the death goodbye!
Our story will fill the divine soil
the heaven's flora and fauna
each and everyone will shine on our page
no houri will ever say finito singing our tale!
As Adam did it first stunned the angels
telling the nature of all things in paradise.
We will do that once more without a smirk
this time we will see the loving Creator!
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
Plenary veils...infinitely unveiling the bride--
her face will never be seen, ovoid porcelain,
angling candles...upon a UFO altar.
The relentless Hand that pinches and lifts her
veils...has seen her face, and kissed her lips
so many times--that her infinite unveiling...
is love's ****** regress...a deathless imagining
made real.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
XXXII. TO SELENE (20 lines)
(ll. 1-13) And next, sweet voiced Muses, daughters of Zeus, well-
skilled in song, tell of the long-winged (35) Moon. From her
immortal head a radiance is shown from heaven and embraces earth;
and great is the beauty that ariseth from her shining light. The
air, unlit before, glows with the light of her golden crown, and
her rays beam clear, whensoever bright Selene having bathed her
lovely body in the waters of Ocean, and donned her far-gleaming,
shining team, drives on her long-maned horses at full speed, at
eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then
her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is a sure
token and a sign to mortal men.
(ll. 14-16) Once the Son of Cronos was joined with her in love;
and she conceived and bare a daughter Pandia, exceeding lovely
amongst the deathless gods.
(ll. 17-20) Hail, white-armed goddess, bright Selene, mild,
bright-tressed queen! And now I will leave you and sing the
glories of men half-divine, whose deeds minstrels, the servants
of the Muses, celebrate with lovely lips.
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We all have our own destiny,
written in the celestial mystery,
Mayan cycles in the eternal so trippy,
transition of ego death can be accepted,
our souls last forever protected,
fear is only a shadow from light of awareness,
experience deathless consciousness,
nothing but a transformative change,
a quantum jump strange,
fictional in the cosmic game,
rearrange dance celebrate and play,
welcome the unknown foresty beyonds,
all webs of being are woven better,
we are all one from the beginning until forever,
ceremonial tribal & shamanic let's gather together.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:35 PM UTC
Truth is big
it's imminent.
Little is in the know.
I wonder though
what if we knew it a lot
will we not die no more?
Pondering me
ended up on the water.
There was land no more.
Or the colossal ocean
at the end of the earth
is its backdrop who knows?
If this little soil earth
can stand in the midst
of the giant ocean
why can't a life's
bottomless backdrop
billow up when the
momentary death swoop?
(Thus propelling it into its
deathless eternal portion.)
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
A Sonnet is a moment’s monument,—
Memorial from the Soul’s eternity
To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be,
Whether for lustral rite or dire portent,
Of its own arduous fulness reverent:
Carve it in ivory or in ebony,
As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see
Its flowering crest impearled and orient.
A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals
The soul,—its converse, to what Power ’tis due:—
Whether for tribute to the august appeals
Of Life, or dower in Love’s high retinue,
It serve; or, ’mid the dark wharf’s cavernous breath,
In Charon’s palm it pay the toll to Death.
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I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
"pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
""I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything.
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain.'''
That he might Set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these, or words like these,
I add in commentary,
"Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied --
Grave is heaped on grave
That they be satisfied --
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped on Birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.' 0084
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He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion
He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 2:56 PM UTC
XXXI. TO HELIOS (20 lines)
(ll. 1-16) (34) And now, O Muse Calliope, daughter of Zeus, begin
to sing of glowing Helios whom mild-eyed Euryphaessa, the far-
shining one, bare to the Son of Earth and starry Heaven. For
Hyperion wedded glorious Euryphaessa, his own sister, who bare
him lovely children, rosy-armed Eos and rich-tressed Selene and
tireless Helios who is like the deathless gods. As he rides in
his chariot, he shines upon men and deathless gods, and
piercingly he gazes with his eyes from his golden helmet. Bright
rays beam dazzlingly from him, and his bright locks streaming
form the temples of his head gracefully enclose his far-seen
face: a rich, fine-spun garment glows upon his body and flutters
in the wind: and stallions carry him. Then, when he has stayed
his golden-yoked chariot and horses, he rests there upon the
highest point of heaven, until he marvellously drives them down
again through heaven to Ocean.
(ll. 17-19) Hail to you, lord! Freely bestow on me substance
that cheers the heart. And now that I have begun with you, I
will celebrate the race of mortal men half-divine whose deeds the
Muses have showed to mankind.
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XVIII. TO HERMES (12 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of
the deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas,
when she had made with Zeus, -- a shy goddess she. Ever she
avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy
cave, and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-
tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound
in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.
(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I
have begun: now I will turn to another song!
(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good
things! (31)
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She watches a firefly dancing
in the pretty, sorrowful darkness.
She’s a moonflower clinging to her dream,
singing songs of love and magic.
A mystical vision in the radiance of night,
in her concluding silky, passionate glide upon the deathless sky,
in her deepest grief,
some blissful dreams arise.
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 10:34 PM UTC
~
*Weddings and honeycombs.
Why do they give us the hives?
The keeper knows.
There's a buzz in the air.
It belongs to
the rudimentary happinesses:
The minor miracle of father's smile,
a morning breath of honey,
painting toy lips with
blood from mother's finger.
Deathless protagonists,
Mom and Dad,
our propolis.
They love us from afar.
They love us with what they are.
There's a buzz in the air.
There must bee!
They can't help loving
us little monsters,
who sting
and then say goodbye,
sting and say goodbye.
A linn begins to form
in the corner of their eye,
as wheat fields sway in the wind.
The innocent
and the beautiful
have no enemy, but time.*
~
Mar 3, 2022
Mar 3, 2022 at 9:46 PM UTC
XXIX. TO HESTIA (13 lines)
(ll. 1-6) Hestia, in the high dwellings of all, both deathless
gods and men who walk on earth, you have gained an everlasting
abode and highest honour: glorious is your portion and your
right. For without you mortals hold no banquet, -- where one
does not duly pour sweet wine in offering to Hestia both first
and last.
(ll. 7-10) (33) And you, slayer of Argus, Son of Zeus and Maia,
messenger of the blessed gods, bearer of the golden rod, giver of
good, be favourable and help us, you and Hestia, the worshipful
and dear. Come and dwell in this glorious house in friendship
together; for you two, well knowing the noble actions of men, aid
on their wisdom and their strength.
(ll. 12-13) Hail, Daughter of Cronos, and you also, Hermes,
bearer of the golden rod! Now I will remember you and another
song also.
3.4k
Death is the act of becoming.
Death is the act of birthing.
Death is all that is, creation;;;
And destruction.
Death is love.
Death is hate.
Death is neutrality.
Death is chaos.
Death is order.
Death is truth.
Death is real.
Only death is real.
Death, death, death.
Only death is real.
Death is life.
Death is gateways.
Death is magick.
Death is G-D.
The Lord is life,
Thus, The Lord is death.
Death is endlessness.
Death is the spiral.
Death is forever.
Spiral. Spiral. Spiral.
Death is deathless.
Death is holy.
Death is Shiva.
Death is Allah
Death is ********
Death is Om.
Death is Jesus.
Death is Roman Empires fallen.
Death is the earth fallen.
Death is trees fallen.
Only death is real.
Only The Lord is real.
The Lord is death.
Death. Death. Death.
Only death is real.
Life is illusion.
A testing dream for death.
Death is a gateway to Divinity.
Only death is real.
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
Amen
Take me to church
Ill worship like a dog
At the shrine of your lies
Ill tell you my sins
So you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Oh good God
Let me give you my life
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
1393
Lay this Laurel on the One
Too intrinsic for Renown—
Laurel—veil your deathless tree—
Him you chasten, that is He!
3.4k
Come, my Lucasia, since we see
That miracles Men's Faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry World let's prove
There's a Religion in our Love.
For Though we were design'd t'agree,
That Fate no liberty destroys,
But our Election is as free
As Angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determin'd to their joys.
Our hearts are doubled by the loss,
Here Mixture is Addition grown;
We both diffuse, and both ingross:
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.
We court our own Captivity
Than Thrones more great and innocent:
'Twere banishment to be set free,
Since we wear fetters whose intent
Not ******* is but Ornament
Divided joys are tedious found,
And griefs united easier grow:
We are our selves but by rebound,
And all our Titles shuffled so,
Both Princes, and both Subjects too.
Our Hearts are mutual Victims laid,
While they (such power in Friendship lies)
Are Altars, Priests, and Off'rings made:
And each Heart which thus kindly dies,
Grows deathless by the Sacrifice.
2.9k
Montgomery! true, the common lot
Of mortals lies in Lethe’s wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot,
Some shall exist beyond the grave.
“Unknown the region of his birth,”
The hero rolls the tide of war;
Yet not unknown his martial worth,
Which glares a meteor from afar.
His joy or grief, his weal or woe,
Perchance may ’scape the page of fame;
Yet nations, now unborn, will know
The record of his deathless name.
The Patriot’s and the Poet’s frame
Must share the common tomb of all:
Their glory will not sleep the same;
‘That’ will arise, though Empires fall.
The lustre of a Beauty’s eye
Assumes the ghastly stare of death;
The fair, the brave, the good must die,
And sink the yawning grave beneath.
Once more, the speaking eye revives,
Still beaming through the lover’s strain;
For Petrarch’s Laura still survives:
She died, but ne’er will die again.
The rolling seasons pass away,
And Time, untiring, waves his wing;
Whilst honour’s laurels ne’er decay,
But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.
All, all must sleep in grim repose,
Collected in the silent tomb;
The old, the young, with friends and foes,
Fest’ring alike in shrouds, consume.
The mouldering marble lasts its day,
Yet falls at length an useless fane;
To Ruin’s ruthless fangs a prey,
The wrecks of pillar’d Pride remain.
What, though the sculpture be destroy’d,
From dark Oblivion meant to guard;
A bright renown shall be enjoy’d,
By those, whose virtues claim reward.
Then do not say the common lot
Of all lies deep in Lethe’s wave;
Some few who ne’er will be forgot
Shall burst the ******* of the grave.
2.9k
The first time that Delilah saw Samson
she said to herself,
“That man will be mine.”
she said,
“Yes.”
He laughed when she first begged to bind him,
“I cannot be bound.” He declared,
“I have brought one thousand men to their knees.”
She replied, “So have I.”
and on her knees
she showed him how.
Their favorite game to play was Pagan,
he would act as sacrifice and she, the priest,
teaching him to worship
at her temple,
teaching him the best death
was deathless.
Long before she cut his hair,
she made him weak.
Long before they gouged his eyes,
he was blinded.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
I lie strategically in place
Innocent framework fused
With royal carapace
Frail and allknowing fingers clenched and intertwined,
Mimicking the honest silver circuit in the night sky
As candid as the shore
Each slumbered and delicate breath
Vitally delivered from those sublime lips
Both damp and potent
I get a candied wind of
An accidental consolation
To my crippling worry
Sorrowful, I am, my love
For eavesdropping, but
My reveries are your keepsakes
And I,
Watching you sleep, carefully
In A placid coma, caging waves of covenants
And exhaling tokens of a life once dreamt of
I envisage the unvarnished truth,
your marrow as my sustentation,
Your veins, My lifeline
Where each filament of platinum and sorrel remain entangled and sprawled in forever, impeccably
And how drawn out and vexing
My intervals of lingering for you
Have been
And then you leak a sigh in a dream
And exhale a veil of whispers
Directly to my ribcage
And I simper, cradling you tighter
So you can breathe my craving,
My contented tribute
To my one veritable sentiment.
And I seal it all in the midst,
Of a drifted and slumbered and deathless
Kiss.
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
THE HAGGARD woman with a hacking cough and a deathless love whispers of white
flowers ... in your poem you pour like a cup of coffee, Gabriel.
The slim girl whose voice was lost in the waves of flesh piled on her bones ... and
the woman who sold to many men and saw her ******* shrivel ... in two poems you
pour these like a cup of coffee, Francois.
The woman whose lips are a thread of scarlet, the woman whose feet take hold on
hell, the woman who turned to a memorial of salt looking at the lights of a
forgotten city ... in your affidavits, ancient Jews, you pour these like cups of
coffee.
The woman who took men as snakes take rabbits, a rag and a bone and a hank of
hair, she whose eyes called men to sea dreams and shark's teeth ... in a poem you
pour this like a cup of coffee, Kip.
Marching to the footlights in night robes with spots of blood, marching in white
sheets muffling the faces, marching with heads in the air they come back and
cough and cry and sneer:... in your poems, men, you pour these like cups of coffee.
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