"footmarks" poems
Human life is like a book...
The middle being birth.
The end death.
And the middle
a souls adventure of expansion.
Human life is like a book.
A grand story
unwinding with feelings as words
and moments as footmarks.
Once concluded it’s bond
in spirits core memory
to take one then
to a new book-cover of spirit.
A new beginning of
chapters where a sequel begins
with a beginning, middle, and end.
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 6:48 AM UTC
Old eyeglasses on wetland.
Deep footmarks in cold sand.
Green tide takes all.
LazharBouazzi, January 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
Sunrays peep in through imaginary windows...
The heart of the canopied forest
beats a deep throb of chlorophyllic pulse,
Invisible organisms wait in hiding,to smell my odour
The wet ground tries to take me in...dragging me deep into it.
This place always makes me blurry eyed,
Even today as tears run down my cheeks,
The sunlight refracts against them weaving for me a rainbow of psychedelic hues!
Amber memories hanging by the barks makes me weary of my thoughts...
But just then when I take a step to touch them, I hear footsteps coming behind me...
A quick run and a hide...I see him moving upto the exact spot where I had left behind my candid footmarks,
I feel a tingle when he touches them calling out to me with a cracking voice...
And yet I choose to remain in hiding, feigning oblivion much like the way the oceanic storms do in order to take down the will of the mighty ships.
If only I had sunk deep into the centre of the earth,
I would never had to be the mistress of this strangest potion of a feeling, one that just blends longing and feigning perfectly into one!
Some kind of pains are like the fires of hell
You never want to be burnt alive...
I strain my ears trying to hear him out, the farest sounds return to me amplifying a hundredfold, yet all that lingered in the air was a human silence.
Maybe he had understood my dilemma,
My resolve of not wanting to see his tender face again
The fear that once again my petrified heart would be cast away from the spell... That it would set me free...
All I wanted now was a locked space for myself and my heart.
Once out of my hiding place, I ran, stumbling, up to the place where his footsteps had frozen in a previous time.
Touching the place, I could not contain myself
It was my turn to call out to him, only but in a voiceless language!
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 9:12 AM UTC
Eyeglasses old on wetland,
Footmarks deep in fissured sand,
Tidegreen takes all.
(c) LazharBouazzi
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 11:24 AM UTC
just sat inside for the lack of light;
night kept on for weeks. several coat-
pockets later, something choked up.
something let out. here, you
were a shell imprinted into the cliffs,
watching over darkened and still waters.
waiting to fall. clasped in tender hands:
dirt, glass shards, rust filings, discarded
seaweed on wire hook. there, you
were sediment compounding under your
footmarks. slipping towards faith, first shivering
the second you put down fingerprints in the shade.
the sun trickled soft through pine needles,
you'll always be as beautiful as that light;
some half-hour distant, you'll find out.
so, as salt-spray wears teethmarks into
your sleeping motions, i sit upon
the shoreline and collect handfuls of
pebbles, full of hope your curvatures
will curl out of these coagulated beds,
these hollows i lay awake in.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
The country,
whose identity is its people,
and its diversity.
The country who fought for its own freedom.
It is the largest democratic country.
The country who have never harmed.
The country whose whole body flows
with religious beliefs.
The country which maintains spirituality.
The legends whose footmarks are the
road we follow.
The country had shown how non-violence
is the key to success.
The country who is selfless.
The country believes in what we believe.
And it said,
Freedom for my country,
and freedom for my people.
And so it's my country India.
For whom i am so proud.
My country, where everyday is an
Independence Day.
Aug 29, 2020
Aug 29, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC
I refuse to let life fade my colors.
Every experience, event,
each of the souls I’ve met,
all of those feelings felt,
dye me a bit deeper—
shades and tints a bit richer.
And when I leave this world,
you’ll find traces of me
in every place you look.
Footmarks so vibrant,
even rainbows will
have something to pray for
after the storm.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Poverty may not necessarily
laziness connote,
and riches may not
necessarily hard work
indicate.
The hand of providence
does its major role play,
as successes and failures
to each man is assigned.
Work resiliently before
the twilight of life,
extending the goodwill
of fortunes divinely
earned,
thus leaving indelible footmarks
on the paths of existence,
because one day,
die we all must,
and our deeds to future
generations will loudly
speak.
Aug 27, 2022
Aug 27, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
I have been seeking solace
In fantasies
Of meeting my quietus
All my pleas to the maker
To be exonerated from the tyranny of drudgery
Fell to the wind
In the throes
Of self-abasement
I have been torn asunder
And rue haunts me
Like no ghost ever could
I don't quite know
Where this road
With no footmarks leads
Marching into the uncharted
All what my eyes perceive
Are visions of fractured glass
As I stare into the distance of a destiny painted in eerie hues.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
***** footmarks marble the milky white carpet,
even with the muddy soles(souls) left untied at the door.
They sit motionless eating dinner with empty plates rested on a table top so dusty it leaves a print when it's palmed.
Dissolving,
Decaying,
Love deflating
in a shabby room,
walls inching closer with every word unsaid, inching closer til their dead.
Renovation is no longer
in question;
Cleanly on the outside, polluted within.
Their pure eyes fog blacker than
burned, leather skin;
Recycling into a ruddy shoe, only to repeat its course in that shabby room.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
sangkutsa— sana'y kartada nuwebe
stove -- so much inner blue
in this gruesomeness,
still soft is the orifice, maiming
the speech whirling in warm press;
hand -- to just blindingly toss out
in wording it so that then this is true:
we once had each other in the
simmer of feelings, leaving
our shadows crazy-eyed in
elegiac silence.
rawness -- boiled to a broth:
thawing largeness, tipping away in
and of feeling.
final stages --- half-done in waiting,
half-undone in wanting. darkness
condoles with the aperture of
clouds twitching to rain tritely
against the tiled floor. islands of
wet footmarks make the traverse
viciously slippery on my way
to your side of breathing.
all of it -- hand's gentle breeze,
salt of lake-eyes, melee of tactical pressures sizing down spots gleamed
and honeyed with ires. a hiss
on landscaped neck where a peregrinating perfume sits, feverish with
desire and nothing else,
blood boiling, whistling through the pores are the saltine sweat
poised, almost
for the mouth's readiness
in consummation.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
Run, even when
the jeers are too loud
your legs feels like they will
fall off, and pain stabbing with
every footsteps that land on the ground.
Keep going, leave marks
unseen or careless
you are the one who will bite
your own fruit of labour.
(don't think about the flavor. if it tasted too much like your blood, swallow)
the dogs, rabid and feral
they will chase you
but they will cower when you show them
your gleaming teeth
all animals know to fear beasts,
especially the caged ones.
Let the wind, shake you up
bring a noose made of what ifs
and the trials that you endures
undulating coils filled with every
rejection that sneak itself into your ribs.
There are cracks on your sole,
some runs through your back
dividing your temple and circling your neck
bending down to your lips, dangles like
the consequences of reality
oozing colors but never spirit.
Run, keep running
until you burn up,
burned up and there is
nothing left but footmarks
on hard stone.
(Water is patience that you drink, but Fire is what we all breathe)
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
Ground's bare but we two filled it
With footprints chasing each other heartily
But those were superseded past a minute
With footmarks of separating ways painfully.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 9:01 AM UTC
O pathfinder,
you wanted to leave unsung.
One day I will track down your footmarks.
Last night I understood
the unholy drowning of the truth,
before the priests of innocent surrender.
Jealousy was the secret of
downfall.You can use the parenthesis now
to defend the corporate
blunders.
Politics has become a
grammar to cheat the morphology
of gospels.
Do not go like naked truth
in the crowd.I wanted back
my eyebaths to see clearly.
The gap between the lips
was widening..
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
I stood there
while you walked over the moon
into the darkness of the night.
I called you,
loudly,
then gently
as I watched you get vanished
somewhere into the lap of the unknown.
I glanced at your footmarks,
but soon they left me too
and I remained silent and lonely,
to this day,
I'm standing here,
where you left me
to get lost in my way...
~~©Dhiman
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC