"reachable" poems
My small hut of dreams
surviving all alone atop of hill
covered all around with huge deodar trees
of muddy wall and slanting roof sill
Ginger and cardamom tea
near the orange fire place
reading journals
I will live , capturing the first snow in days
freshly baked potato in oven clay
sprinkled rock salt with melted cheese
fragrant leaves of corainder
lingers on and stays
sweet and sour taste of wine
from the close by farm of grapes
friends and family gather everynight
over dinner and United prays
bells echoing mystery in the air
far from the temples on a difficult mountain
where path to heavens looks reachable
trekking the rocks in sun and in rain
Manisha
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:24 AM UTC
One
I hate myself.
Two
I'm scared to sleep at night because whenever I close my eyes it's as if the ruthless words of hatred and disgust that you throw at me relentlessly replay over and over in my head as if it was a broken record perched on the top of a dusty shelf that isn't within a reachable distance.
Three
I don't know who I am anymore. I lost her somewhere within this sea of sadness I plunged myself into.
Four
Fat, Ugly, Worthless. Fat, Ugly, Worthless. Fat, Ugly, Worthless. These are the words that taunt me everyday and latch onto me like a bloodthirsty leech that just found a new piece of flesh to feed off of.
Five
Whenever somebody tells me to be who I am and that they won't judge. I laugh. I laugh because being who I am is just a distant memory. I cant be who I am because I lost when I skipped my first meal. I lost who I was when I learned what it felt like to genuinely hate myself. I lost myself when I learned how to numb myself so that I feel nothing at all. Now here I am in present time, curled up in a ball of my own self pity, crying out all the feelings I wish I had.
Six
Somedays, I wish I could find the me that loves me, but I can't because the horrid words that you uttered to me stabbed her over and over again relentlessly and when you finally walked away, she stood there bleeding out all the love and trust she used to have.
Seven
I hate telling people how I really feel because they take it as a yearning for attention, not a cry for help. I hate telling people how I feel because they would treat me as if I was a problem and not a human.
Eight
I just wish that someone would paint on me as if I were a blank canvas and turn me into something magnificent because I am tired of continuously painting
myself in hopes that my tear-stained cheeks, lifeless eyes, and pain will turn me into the beautiful girl society expects me to be.
Nine
I just wish I was normal.
-b.c.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Attention pivoted on the farthest
Blurry are the things at hand
The horizon seems reachable
Near ones distances themselves further
Clarion call from beyond the realm
Here, the soul is writhing in anonymity
A void, that threatens to engulf the known
Uncertainties of the realization is real
Heart is anchored here with situation
Yet, the world beckons this soul
The traveler yearns to break loose
The farthest seems logical and reachable
Distance will be traversed through unrevealed
Journey holds key to reach the destination
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 8:32 AM UTC
Oceans couldn't keep me away from you, distances aren't reachable, I'll swim to you, love, street-fight or die trying, the stars and the infinite galaxies won't keep me from your love, it's the same old story, guy meets girl, but I am a fighter and a lover, I'll fight Bulls with no sword, I won't cheat, I'll use my hands, I'll run and ride wild horses to be by your side, I'll swim with sharks with no cage, fearless heart made with fiery stone, our love is deep, and I'll stop at nothing to die by your side, the same old story ... This story is endless, I'll conquer kingdoms, **** them with love to make you mine, till I crawl bare-boned ****** ravished to hold your hand and make you mine...
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 3:25 AM UTC
Prelude
"Let's go" his soft whisper
the mantra, in his voice she hears
the esoteric voyage through
the cryptic high seas of self,
fathomless, unmapped,
uncharted and reachable
only by the most fearless
ready to unbind and make
the self free for it's adventure,
begins thus for the peaceful pair
complementing the absolute
for a life time, til they reach there
and find themselves one with
pure consciousness.
"Let's let's, but only together"
she chants in unison,with him.
1.
Bidding good bye to ego, clad in red and black
a beast, not easy to bring to it's knees, submit,
the high horse proud,raring to go,having sharp horns
sticking out, fierce, that goes berserk,on seeing white.
Altogether a curious construct, that dictates terms-
they set about, invoking the blessing of the flame of light.
2
They stood together, eyes widely shut, bringing
both palms together,in front of their chests
creating a lotus bud, symbolizing hearts,bowing
each other in "Namaste",-bows the divinity in thyself-
chanting the mantras of peace, thrice, each time, repeatedly.
3
"Lets go back to the begining of every begining.."
the primordial hum, transcending quagmires of time
in the path of our ancestors,who did see the" unseeable",
without eyes, knew the "unknowable",diving in to the
ocean depth of self,going inwards chanting"Neti, Neti"
Not this, Not this, inquiring each till the essence did reveal.
4
They did this, focusing the eye of the mind, on the eye
beyond all, that watches every small thing in universe.
Mind, sharpened like the blade of a sword,efficient to cut
the Gordian knots,of paradox, duality and illusion,
encountering the silence that thickens at last, speaks
the words of wisdom,patient they are, to know the ultimate,
right there at the source of light that is the true essence of all,
5
Celebrate the pure consciousness, that pervades in every thing,
the thought that begets all thoughts,that moves on to be karma,
that becomes purer, through the cycles of lives, one after another.
"Let's be humble, utmost, sans the ornamental clothes of pride.
May the thought reigning cosmos, the spirit of peace,chanted aloud,
take us to it's sanctum sanctorum and melt us in to it's divine embrace.
Only one there is, all are it's integrals,the divine cosmic hum 'Aum'
that enliven the universe within each cell, remember , is eternal"
#@@#
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
Never Neverland is the place where dreams come true
Where you don’t have to be serious, don’t have to grow up
Where Peter is the one to follow and ensures that the everlasting imagination is forever
You can run around in your underwear and no one would notice,
Go get worms by the fireside and tell them to come play
Astronauts, doctors, photographers are all dreams reachable
In Never Neverland you are safe from teenagers torment
Or weight weighing you down, every time you count the calories of a *******
Never Neverland is a place of wonder, a place of intrigue
And where memories don’t fade, everything is everything
And everyone is part of some huge inner circle
Giggling and building forts
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
Pluto was just like the rest,
Complete a full rotation, wake up and get dressed,
Open his eyes, feel the weak beams of sunlight on his chest,
Looks upon his brothers and can’t help but be subtly impressed.
There was Earth, a real people’s person,
Wore turf like makeup, but not in equal proportion
To his ever rising water level that always seemed to worsen,
And a high population that could sometimes be a burden.
Riots and drama and wars blemish like acne,
His inhabitants each day getting slowly more crafty,
Some think he’s round, others prefer to live flatly,
I guess being the most popular isn’t so classy.
Jupiter was closer, a real gas giant,
Lived all alone with no people to be her clients,
But stuck in constant alliance with a star filled tyrant,
The universes ring around her finger, a constant engagement.
And then there was Pluto, a boy with a strange condition,
A condition made worse by a long stellar distance,
In a world seemingly endless, it’s time that this came fourth,
What was wrong with Pluto you ask?
Well he was a dwarf.
Due to his small size, Pluto just didn’t quite fit,
The little guy in town, but with a slightly bigger orbit
The shortest, the furthest, not reachable by any rocket,
Until one day the universe did something even more horrid.
2006, the year the family would die,
God took his power, and cast Pluto aside,
No longer a brother, cast him out and took his pride,
Now forever a dwarf planet, it was planet genocide.
From that day on, Pluto became distant,
He was the same as them, same digestive solar system,
But he was victim to prejudice between organisms,
A broken existence, due to planetary feudalism.
By Thomas Charlton
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 3:18 PM UTC
I glare at it
During last period,
Jumping too high
But not high enough
To reach the swinging rope.
I'm in history,
And some glazed-over teacher
Is pointing at the
Chalkboard which has
Tiny scratches that look like words
Scribbled all over.
But I don't look at my notes,
Because my neck is craning
Too far back
To look at the rope
That is
My two and a half hours of freedom.
A single note is released into the halls
And the students chace it
And I leap into the air
Because the rope
Is reachable
And I grab it.
I begin to climb.
I sit by you on the
Dirt-dusted tile floor
Outside the gym
And we work on algebra
Or english if it's a good day.
And don't get me wrong,
I hate the familiar stench of homework
As much as
The next
Hunchbacked highschooler.
The rope stings my hands
While I climb.
You numb the burn.
But I have practice
And the rope is easy to climb
And I reach the top
In two and a half hours
And you get into
The yellow sardine can
That goes to your neighborhood.
And all of my muscles ache when you go.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
Never Neverland is the place where dreams come true
Where you don’t have to be serious, don’t have to grow up
Where Peter is the one to follow and ensures that the everlasting imagination is forever
You can run around in your underwear and no one would notice,
Go get worms by the fireside and tell them to come play
Astronauts, doctors, photographers are all dreams reachable
In Never Neverland you are safe from teenagers torment
Or weight weighing you down, every time you count the calories of a *******
Never Neverland is a place of wonder, a place of intrigue
And where memories don’t fade, everything is everything
And everyone is part of some huge inner circle
Giggling and building forts
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Will you believe me if I tell you
that my fictional love came to life?
The fictional personality
that I've long been dreaming of
he came to life
oh
what I mean is
he just passed by
I’m trapped between
my dreamland and reality
If I could then I would
stay in my dreamland
for in my dreams, he is reachable
In my dreams, I can have him
and in my dreams
he wouldn’t be with someone else
But in this bitter reality, I could not
I could only stand and stare at a distance
My fictional love came to life
but I'm only a mere helping character
for my beloved protagonist
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
I can live without him
He is not indispensable
I can love despite him
He is not inevitable
But it isn't new
It was my routine
I have lived without him
Smiled without him
Only I didn't feel alone then
Now I want to live with him
He is irresistible
I want to love only him
It is irrevocable
I want to smile and cry
when he is reachable
I can move on, yes
He is replaceable
But this is new
And I'm addicted
My muse invincible
Nov 15, 2023
Nov 15, 2023 at 10:54 AM UTC
The transgressions of utter here and nowity
Unbeleivable longing for a collapsing norm
On the altar of self destruction and causal
Reciprocity fluttering on rebirthed dreams
You can sing and love these colorful birds
Vibritang meticulously with rare palpitations
Of greater bodies, which dust is a part of us
Delusional creatures, flying on the grandeur
Non reachable to written words, stellar ink is
Spilled, playing on the shores of ever returning
Waves of transformation; Shapes dance within
Your gaze, telling the story of water coy stillness
Unmovable we move on, unlovable we love hope
Clinging to tree roots and blood veins as clothes
Warm our trembling fragile figures travelling on
And on into the higher realms of transfiguration.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
Hearts made of glass
Fragile
Bright
Translucent
Small enough to hold in the palm of our hands
The glass is expensive
Irreplaceable in fact
Each type of heart is crafted
Each in different shapes
Sizes
Curves
Carefully crafted and molded
From two other glass hearts
That became one
It is given to us
As gifts
The twinkle in our eyes
Glows as we receive ours
The glass hearts react
To many different feelings
In sadness it takes the coating
Of your tears
And when it fades it hardens
And becomes stronger
When anger hits it
The glass heart will melt
Unable to take the heat
In happiness it will twinkle
Allowing it to shine through
The eyes of others
But as we grow older
We begin to learn
How we care for our hearts
Some of us are careful
Holding our hearts dearly
Cherishing it
So that it can be
Seen by all
Reachable by all
Available to view and to see
The insides and the outsides
Some of us are careless
Recklessly lending it to others
Throwing it
Shaking it
Using it for the wrong purposes
Until one day it breaks
And it needs to be fixed
The glass is fixable but
It never quite returns to its former translucence
The saddest of all though is when
We pretend it doesn't exist
It's when the glass heart fogs up
Not allowing others to see inside
The twinkle once there disappears
Replaced with something solid
The curves still there
The size still there
But in actuality what made something there
Is gone
It stays that way
Until one day
It shatters
And cannot be repaired
The gift of the glass heart
Must be remembered
It is fragile
Which makes caring for it hard
And though we can hate it for its fragility
We love it because of its translucent beauty
We love it because it makes the eyes on others smile and well as ourselves
We love it because it's us
And it's us that should never be clouded
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
perhaps I was twenty-six
she looked me over and soon enough
the walk to her place was zip, zap, zoop;
meaning, although the barman called
me over to tell me she had recently stabbed
or had tried to stab a bartender from
down the street,
my only concern was another mandrax, a
joint of kashmir hashish with thick ***** streaks
and, most certainly, a new escape; a new woman
the floor (a penthouse apartment, mind you):
much water from an overflowing sink...then, there's
the layer of dust on the dishes of the dish rack...and, not
to forget, the four or five
frightening knives, all very reachable
then, she introduces me to her first
jumping up and down episode--hollering,
"you're my father! I must **** you!"
how I spent two or was it three days with
her dumbfounds me these days...the fool, me,
I remember, first turned off the water
and mopped dry the floor...the miracle of
how my hand awoke and grabbed her wrist,
with the blade's tip an inch from my heart,
will have to wait another session with Harmony
--that She may reach into my mind and
pull out a more clear version of the epilogue
of this is-it-a-poem which I've written
in numerous other versions over the years
~~
..(C)2011/2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Harmony; reaching into the poet's heart
~~
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:10 AM UTC
Your eyes are sockets of disapproval
My eyes are sunk in their reticence
Would I be the flustering morning sun?
No I'm not, I only break the dawn
When, creeping from my slothing insolence
I enter the world afresh to some harried call
A new day stretching my body from contortion
To a slumbered, slouched hunch
With bags afrenzy under these eyes that stare back
Are portals to my soul, which is also empty
Reflections of woeful, haggard dejection
Which, in my mind's eye, which is yours,
Give me call to curl back to my hibernation
To recede like my own vacant eyes do,
To my seat of morose repose
Senseless, as I stare thickly into space
Beholding my dreams strewn before me
As I curl away from them, and they seem ever reachable
Moments ago, I used to speak to myself
A mutterance for the day's outlook
Something to find a more suitable reflection
Waiting for me at the day's end
A worldly philosophy, or mind set proposal
But a strange shame spoke back at me,
As I perceived my speaking of these words
That with each day's turn only mildly echoed
As I turned from monotony with each night
To mediocrity of passionless habit
With a pinch of thought each glance conjures
I look upon myself in years,
My futile vision, my rampant egoism
With which the twinkling eye discerns me
At my now stage, and with
Reassuring confidence tells me not to change
As with time's growth will I become you
But blink and I return to forever
For without vigor and drive will this image
Imprint and stagnate its glare upon this glass
My eternal face, my motiveless eyes
Which so piteously transfix themselves on wonder
But turn up only rubble and soil
Now, I turn in disgust, relinquishing my desires
And, turning to the hour, feel slowly
The weight of each second's thunder
Crash upon my shoulders as it is snatched from me
And now I must not lounge through this new morn
I must not lessen with the tide
What I have stored up in greatness
But instead find the key to my ghostly heart
Bring myself back,
Forward into each new life
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
The dusk sets its hasty way
On the bricks and alleyways
where gypsies are endowed
smoking, trashing and fly tipping
Cursing, gossiping and fighting
and it all passes like an oasis
as a monster evades time
as the scorched leaves greet
after all those year and seasons
The tree by the window has grown
having seen misery and laughter
drunken nights and loving days
****** dates and eventual transitions
The burden of truth, it caught my eyes
Captured the barrenness of my soul
it thirsts for a far away distance
those reachable mountains of fortune
It hungers for an embrace full of life
outgrowing the space by the window
tearing the netted curtained screen
Every time I see the that tree
I giggle and then smile a little bit more
as if captured by an angelic love
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
Everything became interchangeable.
Words of wisdom,
which weren't welcoming,
were washed willingly.
Only now knowing
that the definition of a "wash"
is a sensitivity.
An appropriate metaphor
would have been a description
of an undertow; hands over feet,
because a cartwheel is superfluous
underwater.
It's interchangeable.
The fact that the
white whale can
signify the tepid tactic
of the once sought
suitable soul.
It's tangible.
The decisiveness of another party.
A warm body to lay beside.
Another to lift the veil.
To speak love and hate
with full confidence.
Understanding that love and hate
is reachable.
Aloof to the fact that
you are
the love and hate.
It's manageable.
Although, *******
teeth has become customary,
the prospect of ******* face"
still lingers.
It's only until the lack of movement
with fingers...
It's the lack of *******
But, it's manageable?
It's interchangeable.
It's knowing that what was
sought after was temporary,
that a sealed kiss will
eventually lead to an
opened envelope.
Then after time has taken its course,
you will be inside of another,
and another will be inside of her,
but the difference isn't the physicality.
It's the emotion that kills you.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
A world of dreams
Awaits for me
In the distant light
Or near future
Among the stars
My dream is one of the many stars that shine upon the night sky
Big or small
Same or different
Impossible or possible
Far or reachable
Some are there to be desired
Some left untouched and just admired
Every night I look up, they are there
Everyone’s dreams covering the night sky
Reminding us that our dreams exist
Giving us a sense of hope that we may achieve them
But also a sense of disbelief as they seem so far away
There they were
We just have to reach them
My oh my
My star may look very small among many others
But through my darkest nights it fills me with light and hope.
Because if i didn’t have these stars what would decorate my night sky? Or more so my life? My life of beautiful dreams
But when night turns to day
And morning sets in and the stars fade away
It’s back to reality
And the stars disappear like a forgotten dream that wasn’t meant to be
But when nightfall creeps in again
A glimmer of hope crosses the night sky
A shooting star
And that is when
I’ll know I will have achieved my dreams
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
the obvious tragedy
torment me torment me
light rain to torrent
puddle to sea
it lines up so
perfectly
these are just some
lines in place of those
I'd rather have led
up my nose
or is it lead?
oh well, who knows
there's sun draping
the flowers that grow
that is what should be
the focus now, those
flowers literally
let it resound
they reach pretty finger
into the ground
embrace the earth
let it resound
the goal is to rise far
above, the putrid petty
pushes and shoves
a pitying glance from
the woman you love
your pride, starved for
romance, worn like
a glove
it's reachable in some
context, though those
roads aren't
illuminated yet
but they lay still
tread-able and you
have able step
light your own way
illuminate yet
it's hard to convey
the meaning, of
this whole mess
feelings and things
I myself don't know
what good it brings
this whole mess
feelings and things
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
I miss the 'waiting' you used to make me do.
It used to be my favorite thing to do.
Yes, especially when you were late, or so late I can even forget I did nothing but just wait for you.
I miss the times we were sending SMS's
when I waited, sending tens of messages before you can reply a one-liner.
I also miss those feelings I had when you don't answer your phone,
when I try to call you numerous times...and all i hear is the annoying ring
to let me know you are reachable but just not bothering..
the ones I ended up waiting until the entire day ended,
And had to wait again to hear your sweetest apology that have always worked.
It's crazy, but I loved that waiting until you come home.
When you used to tell me to wait for a few minutes, but ended up waiting for an hour more.
Weren't this the very thing I used to do too, when you were still asking me out?
I guess you turned the table, and how I didn't mind about that because I was already there,
Revolving around you.
Time wasn't precious spending them to wait for you for lunch, wait for you for dinner, even wait for you to know I was waiting.
But seeing you finally come, I remember the feeling of gladness waiting brings!
It's like the feeling you have when you experience a miracle when you don't even deserve it.
Yes, I miss being the one waiting for you,
and the times I felt that I was just the only one waiting for you.
Thought all those waiting I did, weren't a waste, but rather,
A training ground for my upcoming occupation..
So optimistic of me..
I've always thought they'd prepare me to face the biggest wait in the history of loving you.
The wait that you'd finally choose me.
But you Didn't.
The funny thing is, there's Still a strong drive inside of me now that pushes me to wait even more...
Wait to prove my doubt right or wrong.
How long would that be then? I don't know.
This whole 'loving you' thing is so powerful it could steal my time.
It doesn't seem to see that time flies.
It doesn't seem to feel the overtime and no alarm sound would seem to wake it up.
so it moves on...
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
The rain falls like tears,
slow and steady.
These clouds loom overhead.
I can see the light fighting to peak from behind....
There is a gentle release.
The rain is washing the world,
as these tears wash the soul,
leaving a crisp luminosity.
Tender with the reflection
of the areas the light fails to reach.
The area where they meet,
the light and the rain,
the smile and the tears...
Reveals a rainbow.
A spectrum of emotion and color-
with no reachable end.
So beautiful, so touching.
Human nature.
Humanity, and nature.
Complex reflections of one another.
Unending uncertainty,
and unrivaled relentlessness
shows unparalleled misunderstanding.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 9:24 PM UTC
When I was young, I would steal the old cassette tapes my parents never listened to and record messages for the stars. At night, I would sneak into the yard and play the recording back, hoping someone was up there, listening. It was a silly thing, really, wishing the stars a good night as though they could hear.
After you died I thought that maybe the messages had been for you all along. It takes years, after all, for things to travel between earth and the heavens. Perhaps I was getting a headstart on missing you.
Now, I know the truth. That I was a kid with nowhere to turn to. That space is a soundless vacuum. That you are gone, reachable only in the moments I press rewind.
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 2:05 AM UTC
The most beautiful thing in the world is disappearing.
Eyes half-shut,
Eyes, half-shut,
Infinity.
The most beautiful thing in the world is your
Hungry,
Still-searching eyes,
Always unsatisfied,
Only ever somewhat watching anything other than the reachable nowhere.
I don't see anything in your eyes
And I think that's the point.
Famished,
Poor, and
Crawling
You exist,
Stomach curling
And stirring bones in its wake.
You exist but only over the horizon.
Searching for the furthest thing you can see,
Searching for what lies beyond that,
Looking for the grayed creatures above your touch
But
More than that,
Raining thoughts upon them like a curious god
Only just remembering
His own power,
His own creation--
Wondering how they're holding up away from you.
You miss them,
And you've been dying to see them.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:52 PM UTC
He was a blank book.
With my ink of sonnets,
I gave him a story,
syllables full of stars.
I made him
readable, interesting, intriguing.
But, the last thing that ever crossed my mind,
was that sitting there,
on that shelf, I also made him
reachable.
Sandoval
Aug 20, 2017
Aug 20, 2017 at 4:37 AM UTC