"looka" poems
The receding horizon,
The fading light of day,
Azure taking a livid hue.
Pokhran's hot, scorching sand,
A lash on our moribund logic.
Death and Life, Life and Death-
Religion and Atheism, Nobel and Booker,
Make us proud and shiver,
Make us happy, rob us of gaiety,
Shoot all our fragile hopes to artistic acme.
Smash all our favourite dreams to smithereens.
The Ganga meanders amidst a maze of
Ripples, crest and trough-
With a dour askance,
With a nonsensical exterior,
At the dead of night,
The hoary-headed ***** rises,
To take stock of pelf,
He keeps in hiding,
Looka yonder, the man with a rice plate in his shack
Stirs out of his lumber, in a jiffy,
Dawns cracks, leaves rustle, breezes whistles,
The nightingale still chirps coo, coo, coo....
Breaking the calm of a nostalgic daybreak.
Love buffoonery, antics of sweet urchin,
Effrontery, betrayal, self-destructive urge,
Blinds love toting niggling details of despair
In it's womb.
A silver of modernism, none can deny,
Gleaning the core of every 'ism' in it's *****
Roads, alleys crisscross, end of tunnel seems dark.
At least, a hairpin bend,
Across the debris of a fresh landslide,
A ray of hope, a shaft of optimism,
A changed universe, a reclaimed Utopia.
Coming true!
-Subhanjan Saha
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
The receding horizon,
The fading light of day,
Azure taking a livid hue.
Pokhran's hot, scorching sand,
A lash on our moribund logic.
Death and Life, Life and Death-
Religion and Atheism, Nobel and Booker,
Make us proud and shiver,
Make us happy, rob us of gaiety,
Shoot all our fragile hopes to artistic acme.
Smash all our favourite dreams to smithereens.
The Ganga meanders amidst a maze of
Ripples, crest and trough-
With a dour askance,
With a nonsensical exterior,
At the dead of night,
The hoary-headed ***** rises,
To take stock of pelf,
He keeps in hiding,
Looka yonder, the man with a rice plate in his shack
Stirs out of his lumber, in a jiffy,
Dawns cracks, leaves rustle, breezes whistles,
The nightingale still chirps coo, coo, coo....
Breaking the calm of a nostalgic daybreak.
Love buffoonery, antics of sweet urchin,
Effrontery, betrayal, self-destructive urge,
Blinds love toting niggling details of despair
In it's womb.
A silver of modernism, none can deny,
Gleaning the core of every 'ism' in it's *****
Roads, alleys crisscross, end of tunnel seems dark.
At least, a hairpin bend,
Across the debris of a fresh landslide,
A ray of hope, a shaft of optimism,
A changed universe, a reclaimed Utopia.
Coming true!
-Subhanjan Saha
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
Eleanor rigby. Picks up the rice in the church where her wedding has been.
Lives in a dream. Waits by the window,wearig the face that she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for.
Father Mckenzie writting the words to a sermon that no one will hear.
Looka at him.working.darning his socks in the night when there's no body there. No one comes near. All the lonely people.
I look at all the lonely peopple.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
I know now
why you don't looka t me the same;
i miss the way you'd smile
all goofy and wide
just to make me giggle.
i know why everythings changed
i, i told you what really goes on
in my mind
and you looked repulsed
but only for a second
because you quickly replied
"I love you"
You only said that
because it's what
you thought you should say.
What were you supposed to say?
I know why you look at me twice
before you kiss me
it's because you're scared
of what i'll do to myself
and you know you
won't be able to stop it.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 9:16 AM UTC