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"mizzling" poems
The night is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole -- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions. Over and over the old, granular movie Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams, Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful, A garden of buggy rose that made him cry. His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks. Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars. He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue -- How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening! Those sugary planets whose influence won for him A life baptized in no-life for a while, And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby. Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods. Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good. His head is a little interior of grey mirrors. Each gesture flees immediately down an alley Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance Drains like water out the hole at the far end. He lives without privacy in a lidless room, The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations. Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments. Already he can feel daylight, his white disease, Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions. The city is a map of cheerful twitters now, And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank, Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
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Insomniac
The night is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole -- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. Under the eyes of the stars and the moon's rictus He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions. Over and over the old, granular movie Exposes embarrassments--the mizzling days Of childhood and adolescence, sticky with dreams, Parental faces on tall stalks, alternately stern and tearful, A garden of buggy rose that made him cry. His forehead is bumpy as a sack of rocks. Memories jostle each other for face-room like obsolete film stars. He is immune to pills: red, purple, blue -- How they lit the tedium of the protracted evening! Those sugary planets whose influence won for him A life baptized in no-life for a while, And the sweet, drugged waking of a forgetful baby. Now the pills are worn-out and silly, like classical gods. Their poppy-sleepy colors do him no good. His head is a little interior of grey mirrors. Each gesture flees immediately down an alley Of diminishing perspectives, and its significance Drains like water out the hole at the far end. He lives without privacy in a lidless room, The bald slots of his eyes stiffened wide-open On the incessant heat-lightning flicker of situations. Nightlong, in the granite yard, invisible cats Have been howling like women, or damaged instruments. Already he can feel daylight, his white disease, Creeping up with her hatful of trivial repetitions. The city is a map of cheerful twitters now, And everywhere people, eyes mica-silver and blank, Are riding to work in rows, as if recently brainwashed.
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Matrimonial stars in aisles of Auroral rainbows. Mizzling rays of twilights, arraying bays with skylines of lucent waves.    A plethora of scarlet roses reposed in florid clouds. Ashore the Giddy ocean in a gentle motion, caressing Mali garnets, mirroring effulgent lights, kissing the mountaintops before refulgent nights.
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Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
Sunset Beauty
It is a smile on the turpitude of scorching sun that inflicts on us A harbinger from the kingdom of heaven. Descending from above -soothing ,dancing ,sizzling mizzling and  torrential at times, Sluicing down the earth bed ,end to end, wherever it touches. It has power to sustain this world It has the power to raze this world It has the power to ornament this world It made this abode a rarest one in the matrix of the whole universe From past to present, ever and forever. It is  a presence felt as long as the earth is green,the sun shines, The ocean whirls and the moon chuckles, Be it called -the clouds,rain ,life or water All in one the manifestation of the other. A benediction from the Soul Supreme To which we all owe our existence. By D.R.Mohanty
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Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
Rain
I'll fall in your embrace With my droplets mizzling upon you, Dear, would you let me embosom? I'll wander around your infinite contours, Gluing to you in your rugged facets, Dear, would you let me explore? I'll dance with your essence And liberate your scents imbibed in me, Dear, would you let me adrift? I'll mingle with your hues Without loosing my limpid self-hood, Dear, would you let me defy? Under the glaring sun, under the gleaming moon, I'll shine back our entwined zeal, Dear, would you let me scintillate? I'll quiver and twitch when the breeze hits hard, I'll cling to you with my sinking heart, Dear, would you then let me depart? I was lost to infinity, you'd thought. But here I am, in pieces, but caught. Dewy loam lets me in. To unite us again, for love must win. Dear, would you let me be you? Dear, would you let me be us?
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Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
The Infinite Existence
It drizzled It's mizzling It'll rain The sky is sunless Natheless It's not alone The sky has tender clouds Unlike me The sky is never lonely July has the musical concert of rain
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Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 1:08 AM UTC
Monotonous July