"enwreathed" poems
The dogs chasing the late autumn leaves
Fluttering down the lane way
The sound of the train as it passes by
Peaceful afternoon walk
The cottage walls and porches
Flourish of colour
Enwreathed with ivy green
Bellflowers, hollyhocks, hydrangea
Scents of lavender and sage
Evoke
Memories of childhood days
Visiting grandparents cottages
One in the Irish Wicklow mountains
The other in the suburbs of Athens city
The free flowing sound of the river
Smoke billowing from chimneys
The cottages have no pretense or grandeur
Just a sanctuary of comfort in the silence of the lane
Reaching the darkest corner of the soul
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 12:22 PM UTC
Verily the exordium told anent a beauty engirdled in her fedora
soliciting those whoever descried her into her mere servile admirer
eight trenchant tinctures upon her body invigorate like a cadenza
I dare not to contradict the verity that I am beguiled afore her
whilst the snain distilled faintly enwreathed her in unctuous silk
concordantly she devote herself earnestly to the impeccable rain
that emanate her fragile poetry with prestidigitation in a whisk
forsooth she is but the vernacular sobriquet to the soul of the rain
recall me otherwhile during the rainstorm champagne did coerce
and the sunset's glass of wine exude her ingratiating persona
like a myriad of aphrodisiac summarized in a single verse
when harmony and lyrics danced in the crepuscular crescendo
all of that needed to be enunciated is it is you
do not harshly let me be thy unrequited dilettante
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 4:27 AM UTC
Somewhere far along
In the fields of my fantasy
I buried my aching heart.
Liberated myself from
its undue desires
Felt freer by its depart.
Clouds of despair
Rained on me
As I dug deeper
Beside the redbud tree.
It bled and shed
And wrenched in pain
For the twisted love
That I had always known it to be.
My hands trembled when
I lay it to rest softly,
The pain was mellowed
As I felt the earth
yearn for it wistfully.
The murk enwreathed
The field of sorrows
As I stood there alone,
Beside my heart’s grave.
Swallowed my tears
As I delivered its eulogy
Wishing that one day,
you’d write its obituary.
I have no reason
To believe that love
Blooms like a flower or
that it’s always meant to be.
As I would live
The rest of my days
Knowing that
My heart died, before me.
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC
I want
to be written about.
Immortalised
in the scrawling of
a pining boy’s
pen.
Encased, no,
enshrined
in verses of
a stars-for-eyes
poet.
Enwreathed
in flowers of
words that
a hopeless romantic waters
everyday.
Is it
much
too much
to ask?
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
What are you thinking? She said.
Have you ever tried standing outside
Late at night and have everything
Sound so silent that you can
Hear your ears ringing?
No. She said.
What are you thinking?
Nothing. She said.
And then you realise,
Staring into wide effervescent eyes,
That your intense willingness to be
Open and honest with this
Daisy-chain enwreathed
Creature of sensation,
Does not compliment
Her nervous wish to maintain
an extraordinarily exquisite air of mystery.
A mystery in itself, no less...
...and rather unhelpful, if you ask me.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC
I asked my better halves
how they desire to lie,
once their hearts stop beating,
and breath bids a last goodbye.
Whether they want the stars to
sculpt their constellation, or
the wind to whisper their
cacophonic tales.
Whether they want the earth
to devour their cadaver, or
the skies to weep and
wash away their existence.
The guitarist stated he'll despise grief
as his memories are being relived,
of who he was and who he remains,
as his guitar sleeps in the arms of its heir.
And maybe, the perished strings of an old guitar
don't have to be mourned over,
but applauded for the melodies
that once kindled a ripple of delight.
My dearest across the border
wishes to be nestled beside a mosque
to be enwreathed by The Divine
and lullabied by the Azaan.
And maybe, the eternal slumber is a charade,
and the past still echoes
within the mute boughs or
streets alive with familiar voices.
My junior casts an absurd wish —
to be submerged in cocoa's caress
and be tossed to the lesbian zombies,
who hunger, not for flesh, but for a passion, so savage and insatiable.
And hence, I believe, the hilarity will haunt forever,
but so will my adoration for her,
and perhaps, the craved fervour will
find its form in me.
Then, another writer wove it in her own syllables —
she urges to sink beneath the dismissed waves,
flicker among starlight, like undying thoughts.
She wants her bones to dissolve, ink for Gods,
and her heart to rest beneath a willow.
She wishes to slip into silence,
like laughter scattered over dreamy vinyl,
breath scattered over moonlit stars,
and a page torn mid-sentence.
And lastly, if you enquire of me,
I wish my corpse to be a legacy beyond self
and be gifted to time and science.
But if coerced to be cremated,
I wish to reincarnate as a litchi tree.
With my arms extended in a welcoming warmth,
I will embrace the excluded,
my shadow will shelter the weary,
and my fruits will sate the starving.
All of which I was never offered
in the frigidity of my bloodline,
but was abundantly endowed with,
in the refuge of my closest mates.
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
O’ sacred dew, whose essence veils the skies,
Within thee, worlds unseen in silence rise.
A single drop, and vast oceans unfold,
Thou art the charm that draws all hearts, untold.
O’ divine glance, where stars are born and die,
Thy gaze, a flame that paints the endless sky.
In thy reflection, blooms the garden’s grace,
Where spring’s pure whispers echo Heaven’s face.
O’ boundless generosity, thou art,
The fragrance of the soul, the breath of heart.
Thy love, a river flowing through the spheres,
A perfect sign, untouched by mortal fears.
O’ wondrous grace, thy gaze, my soul does crave,
A shadow in thy flame, a soul to save.
A cup, unfilled, yet waiting for thy trance,
In thy eternal light, I lose my stance.
A humble soul, enwreathed in Jamil's name,
I stand before thee, lost in love’s pure flame.
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 12:06 AM UTC
thy soul - abandoned
heartache dwells
and
enwreathed by woe
'tis one who loved
nor one who lost
thy mind becomes enthralled
by ones greatest loss
Sanity;
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
Her footprints remained
In his life, like the footprints
Of "Al-khaleel" at "Maqaam Ibraheem";
Bestowing him peace,
And guiding him, through
The dark alleys of life.
And his footprints remained
In her life, like the "lotus footprints",
That washes her heart with love,
And rejuvenate her soul,
With the light of memories;
Enwreathed by happy moments.
Ah! Separated by destiny,
They were still united in their memories;
Playing their roles of life,
With utmost loyalty;
Because,
She was Hermoine to her Harry Potter,
And, he was Harry Potter to his Hermoine!
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 2:45 PM UTC