"snowfields" poems
i breathe out & the world is calm. we are standing waves in the sea. i am a long distance, a collection of lip movements, and all associated aches. you were a fleck of snow i barely even saw, and the ensuing onslaught of winter. plans turn around, often; we stick no closer to 'em than our moralities- i knew what i believed, just some other day: i believed i could roll out of the feeling of wakelessness that i'd thought you endowed upon my eyelids. you were prying them open, though, and i was the one at force. "sleep, my fears and doubts", i would call to myself -round midnight- "sleep and you may escape, or somehow come closer to what you're not sure if you seek".
but my plans, moralities and i, all ambiguous at best, changed. i can't pinpoint why. you said "maybe you can smell my dying, from all that way" i said i hoped not, that i could sense you but you just couldn't tell you were flourishing.
in the heat, i would make out daydreams like dialogue, spread sense like contrails: seemingly cohesive monuments to my bearing, left out to dissipate. snowfields on sunlit afternoons. but you, you you you you you, you stay heavy-stuck to the ground through cycling seasons. variation, only nondecreasing patterns in my everyday thought. inconsistence, only meaningful or meaningless. no pain, just ache all the same.
finally, in month's transitions, i found meaning (or its absence) and realised each was a facet of the other. that all facets were tiny jewels, set into the world, puzzle-piece mirrors set just. right., to reflect the gleaming bright pearl inset upon the other side of our tiny universe, each light another stroke of your portraiture, and i found longing: to find the unknown, through all things ordinary.
and you were, at once, more than a question-mark and the statement of my circles through days. you were the taste of waking, without sharp slice of reality. you were a mirror, hung in front of i, also reflecting; and i saw eternity unfold in us each. you were, and are still, peace on the shoreline. and i was, and am still, drowning, but i can make out sand on the horizonline.
so, i'll just keep afloat, if you can do the same.
so, i just won't go changin',
shine brighter with each passing day.
smile.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
Cloud and snow spume
drift about your summit
veiling your face
Ma Nanda Devi
fixing my gaze to eternity
Rising like a giant shard of
rock carved over a million years,
snowfields scoured by avalanches, your steepled
peak a vast cathedral
Impossibly tall and steep
you rise abruptly over a
guardian ring of summits
witness to your inner realms of being,
the outer gorge of Rishi Ganga's roar
Climbers say in higher climes
light contrasts with darkness, flower leas with worn ridges, fear with elation
O paradox of the sublime
your name means Joy, enduring Joy
The veil lifts, was it the smoke of fires lit
by sages on your summit?
Your natural symmetry of two identical peaks suddenly at ease
is visible from my cottage window.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
by Federico Garcia Lorca
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
I wish to know the universe in all its various weird manifestations. I want to hibernate inside a lenticular cloud for one year straight; I want to be suspended among cryophiles living inside ice cores buried deep deep underneath cold opal blue polar ice glaciers and snowfields; I want to be amid the thermophiles and feel the flames of the sun lick the very essence of my soul from within its hot orange nuclear molten core; I want to wander in space, float in zero g from one celestial body to the other.
But most of all, I want to be. Jus be. Like a bullfrog on a lily pad croaking into the cold thin night.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
For the longest time,
it was all about the future;
then, there came that
strange, unexpected
and terrible moment
when the past began
to take control.
*Oh that tragic feeling:
nowhere to go.*
Everything is ending
and nothing is left
to begin.
Sterile loneliness
of the eternal now.
Dawns like snowfields
of the Gulag.
Days of vapis vacuum
Nights tucked into
an empty bed.
Where does hope fly
when you need it
the most?
How do you soldier on
without it?
Time, which never lies,
will tell.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
One last winter walk—
Little clouds falling all round,
Snowfields between us.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
One last winter walk—
Little clouds falling all round,
Snowfields between us.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:23 PM UTC
Reflections of moonlight
on ******
white snowfields
tonight--
new snow
asks the world
to re-imagine
everything!
Feb 3, 2011
Feb 3, 2011 at 9:46 PM UTC
I return, citylost, and in want of stars
once more above the snowfields--
These winter friends repose and revise:
purity upon me, cleansed like the dying grass of the fields.
I return for the moment Time allowed.
Once more, after concrete-touched skies
spread across my many months
away.
You found me folding up the maps
of my past, and dusting off memories.
Taking my hand, we drive past all of the limits,
Memory and wind directing the car--
Everything glides across the frozen plains.
We serenade only ourselves & the wind,
as the earth rests in her shades of black.
The sky drenches me with speckled light,
Generous winter light,
like a gift left-over from Christmas
Once more
To me,
From you.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 1:45 AM UTC
One last winter walk—
Little clouds falling all round,
Snowfields between us.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Her snakeshead are all dead,
According to all that is said,
For on that night seven years ago,
Venom was diluted by song and cast away,
Seeping into the snowfields of mount Hasgar,
A region of rolling serpentine hills turned into a lifeless glacier,
Many Sharins ago...
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
One last winter walk—
Little clouds falling all round,
Snowfields between us.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
One last winter walk—
Little clouds falling all round,
Snowfields between us.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC