"terseness" poems
Tonight, I saw you at the corner of the road,
standing, with falling shoulders and lowered head,
not lonely, rather alone with yourself,
the best company I would say,
even if it appears contrary to you at the moment
Though, your shoulders are falling,
they are gracefully carrying the excruciating pain of your heart,
those stiff muscles are holding you straight,
yes, your head is lowered down,
yet, what a marvelous posture of your body
I adore you,
your presence, existence is a source of emulation for many,
they are admiring their standing woman-man, their stoikiy muzhik,
as standing their itself is an act of courage,
that you are holding on
I don’t know what ransacked you,
must have been terrible,
but not strong enough to break your resilience,
the terseness of your being,
I adore you
Tonight, when you go back home,
don’t just reach and lay on the couch,
go in front of that mirror,
the one that you have not seen for long
let your intimate self undress you,
praise your beautiful body,
doesn’t matter whether it has gained weight or lost,
if gained, admire those layers of new flesh,
they are eager to burn themselves up for you, just for you,
if lost, praise those beautiful bones,
which are highlighting the flow of universe inside the canvas of your body,
see yourself, raise your head,
give respect to your resilient shoulders,
to your eyes which drained themselves dry to make you feel better,
see the grace and light they have when they daringly carry your vulnerability with style,
they deserve a smile,
while smiling, respect your mind, you awareness,
which is not acting as your master anymore,
when was the last time you caressed your
beautiful eyes, hair, face,
when was the last time you caressed your
breast, chest, all below,
Don’t sleep tonight,
your cupboard is waiting for your touch,
you have kept on contacting them,
but for tonight, for one last moment,
one last act of courage,
that gods themselves are not expecting from you,
shut their mouth,
defeat death, for tonight,
Touch
touch your books, shoes, clothes, diary, pen,
that beautiful lamp in the corner,
your bed that has not been made up,
touch your work, they long for your love,
and they, all of them have waited for this very moment,
just one last deed,
affirmatively whisper…
Aditya
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 11:37 PM UTC
this is the mind’s subtle configuration:
light, dark, vacuity. a metastasis of
sound from dispersions. except
a few stray birds alight umbilical tightwire.
i start to dream the clarity of something
comparable to
vertigo.
in that high place,
pouncing, daringly immense, this experiment
is in the mind’s operative. but you have no idea
what I am pertaining to, or what I am describing
to you, as I do not have maps to begin with, nor
do I have the blueprints to succinctly depict where
to go in case my lostness intersperses with yours:
that there is only precision in where we want to go,
but never where we are at present, and that in the long haul,
long-winded ruminations are waste of time
and that to have wallowed deep in the grovel of mirth,
to sully in superfluity, and to give no care as though
120 kilometers per hour in the expressway, shotgun,
hands spread in the sky towering like lampposts yearning
for a steady acquisition of light, the sounds that take the
form of apparitions and we scream, yes we scream,
with tenderness and rhetoric,
are, of course sensuous narratives
the heart measures in quatrain, in caesuras, in verse
and breadth ( and or so, the simplified electric delight
of a word’s sweet measure hurled to the rotund of ear as
to move close in speaking / whispering )
to permit ourselves to boldly gasp for breath
after the thrill of realizing the terseness of things,
that allow us to speak beautifully for ourselves.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC
(i, continually,
in the terseness of
things
seek gentle reminders which
when it comes,
straightforward as a gull,
that i cannot
utter completely,
speak into beating,
about love then i shall
write about it)
say, i shall plant a kiss
in the landscape of your cheek
and gravitate like rain towards
your soul as we are higher
than any hope that in the
reticence of our mouths,
our eyes would gain courage
and converse a secret
nobody knows.
or carve the words onto your bones as they tremble backward when we alone don moonlight and
dance sprightlier than
parting and when it
comes that there is no music,
your breath is the sound
where my movement is born!
our lips shall grow wings
and flutter into the
starless evening and perch
at the boughs
of love aquiver.
the silence promises all of this:
let us go!
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC