"transgressing" poems
1
Rain's blue-black cloak, tied with rainbow girdle,
visible over the green hills,across rice fields,
she waves and rushes forward.
From distance, the incessant chant
of South-West monsoon,
sounds like a mature witch practicing her craft.
One would think,she is all evil,dark
the overcast sky her sinister cloak,
But under my umbrella
a coy maiden, i desired from afar,
who walk with me step by matching step
with all the cunning tricks of love
trying to entice me with her soft body's tunes,
her tender cool fingers rubbing my cheeks,
her unmistakable lover's touch eager, transgressing
desirous of getting me in to her arms.
2.
She makes me mad
i throw away my umbrella
in the rambunctiousness of a teenager and run with her,
at once her naughty hands pinch and tickle me
then an intense embrace that makes me shiver
with the deep pleasure, I drempt in wakeful nights,
joy of life that rain tune and smell of damp earth evoke!
The green loud glee in me it creates!
In dreams, rain come to me
and tells me the secrets of night
that I long for my love and me alone.
3
Rain, the seductress who taught me
the secret passions of living and loving,
and the burning sensation, of love
that runs deep in the core of one's being.
When I lay awake, in a monsoon night,
outside my window, she plays tango,
wind holding her by the waist, with fierce passion,
that keeps me awake til,
I get absorbed in a dream
that has passionate love as the under current.
)O(
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
Ephemeral light
Transience, transgressing flaws
Of eternity
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 8:19 AM UTC
Hiding. She's
Trying. I keep her
Confined.
Sleeping. She's
Weeping. She screams out her
Cries.
Falling. She's
Calling. There's pain in her
Eyes.
Dormant. She's
Latent. She feels
Paralyzed.
Shifting. She's
Drifting. But I keep her
Inside.
Uneasy. She's
Queasy. Yet I
Minimize.
Refracted. She's
Lasted. She cant be
Denied.
Bleeding. She's
Seeking. To be
Recognized.
Unwitting. I'm
Splitting. I say my
Goodbyes.
Heating. It's
Fleeting. My old peace of
Mind.
Conquered. I'm
Anchored. I'm treading
Neck-high.
Drowning. Heart
Pounding. My sight going
Blind.
Vehement. Not
Present. I am losing my
Pride.
Engaging. I'm
Raging. She's loud from
Inside.
Neurotic. I'm
seasick. From pain left
Behind.
Messy. We're
Heavy. There's blood on our
Lies.
Damage. I
Manage. This fall from up
High.
Numbness. Crave
Oneness. This banal state,
Mine.
Transgressing. Keep
shedding. And I'll find her
Smile.
Uplifting. Deep
Thinking. I tame what is
Wild.
Releasing and healing
My own inner-child.
☼ Mica Light
Nov 4, 2021
Nov 4, 2021 at 6:32 PM UTC
The quiet nights spent alone
Cold as the iciest winter
Wandering wondering
If things had happened in reverse,
Would they be somewhat better?
True Affliction
Unwise decisions
Regretting forgiveness that was once given
Faulty thoughts
Impaired judgments
Logic flawed with justifiable reason
Transgressing to levels uncertain
A tornado of doubt destroys every light in sight
With every dreadful memory that resurfaces
Of the darkest times in her life
The anxiety clouds her mind
Uncertainty glares from behind her eyes
Scars of past loves, past exes, past wounds, past lies
They cover her face
Shown in the bags above her cheeks
The darkness behind her pupils
And the depression contained in them
A midnight black
A dark hole only caused by deep sorrow
Unfathomable Heartache
Overly afraid of the unknown
How will she learn to let go?
As if instinctively hesitant of others intentions
She treads vigilantly amongst
Those of even the utmost caliber
Stern refusal to release her guard
Such little remaining to give
She clings sacredly onto the last of her
To think,
Never again will she slip and fall
Blindly into loves tainted cage
Never again will she be trapped in loves locks
Like an animal untamed
Internally shattered in a zoo of impure emotion
How will she decipher the wrong from the right person?
Passively awaiting
The next bearer of alleged variation
When history has too often chosen to repeat
The differences in being different
Eventually turn out to be exactly the same
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
I found five weasels in a wood,
Five grey kits so fierce they stood,
in challenge on the timbered trail,
my urgings all to no avail.
They held their ground as if to say
This darkling path on which I stray
Is weasel-wood, a tracking ground
Where silent death waits all around
And, transgressing here I truly fear
So ends my trekking here this year.
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
We're Passively going with the flow
With the resonating notion
That "maybe I should be
more like me
And less like you "
But nobody allows it
And it takes a faith
That you won't find in church
'Cause even Christians love you
Only to change you
So Destroy the subliminal slavery
And this we'll begin to see:
That Conformists will be lost
And Indiviuals will be Free
They will flourish
From every end of the earth
Doing whatever it is they desire
Without transgressing what is right.
This would be our souls' freedom
But we're outnumbered by them,
Them that are afraid of being free
Knowing well they'd really be lost.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
I feel passion transgressing all limits when she kisses,
know what does she expect, and when I return,
I owe much more to her, to be in the same league as her,
every transaction leads to further complicated
entries in the account book; can one be just natural
like waves and shore, or be neutral, tranquil, expect
nothing, to make matters, sweet and simple?
But life becomes an exhibition match of warring teams
even lovers become opponents who play devious games
of make believe, falling slowly in to the trap of follies self created
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 8:43 AM UTC
how easily an infantile and innocent a tourist attraction can gain momentum of an iceberg process of revealing unsaid yet easily thought out things.
i'm like a jan matejko harlequin -
the stańczyk gloomed
over the loss of smoleńsk,
the stańczyk - as if a mongolian presence -
the lajkonik of st. mary's noon trumpet
call where a mongolian arrow
pierced the musician's throat...
a big ben of the east a radio reprimand
of beep beep beep...
weeping over england
in the night sitting on a wooden stump
with sunglasses...
oh woe... oh woe! may my heart serve as
both sword and shield, O england!
i am but like the matejko harlequin
(the stańczyk), i am but the memory of
mongols in europe (the lajkonik)...
may i simply record the fates of nations,
and merely acknowledge
my own dearly departed wishing a return
to and severing friendships grasped
in this my so called home lost;
why the abortion of my thought to reclaim
high school education in a
home without allowable citizenship,
and why my necessitating to keep the homage
tongue of birth
usable on the ready...
half of europe disappeared with post-colonialism
and lack of empire building!
so bloodied and monochromatic!
oh but i had nothing to do with it,
i simply woke into this nightmare!
now i'm accused for transgressing social rubrics!
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
I can feel the sunlight on my back but it is the middle of the night. The psychedelic carnival with a circus of those purple zebras outside my window. What a marvelous din they make, the band of fools and actors, the gypsy woman's wonderful spell transgressing into the depths of my skull.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
I'd rather stand valiantly, vigilantly, vehemently opposed
And leave myself exposed and abhorred by men as some sort of abomination
Among the nations of the wicked, the violent, the oppressing,
Those obsessing, resting rather than confessing,
Sitting on thrones of plush and velvet, comforts among one another,
Transgressing and pressing, stepping further into a heading of course,
A course plotted, addressing to the south,
Lower than any city, any suggestion, below pity and question,
Lord, forgive me, for I am stacked with bricks of hate, not wont to overcome evil with good,
And free from admission, sin's apparition, the unfortunate linger of lust, lies, respect to persons, and superstition,
Where my heart should be freedom from all sin, and my mind should be blades,
Cutting vain vines growing from the millstone seeds of silence cast.
I'd rather stand and have my face plagued and beaten,
Sandstone after sandstone from the deserts of accusation and trial,
Than sit and participate in the forced trepanation
Where some cadaver formerly called the mind sits, and God was removed.
I'd rather stand.
On the salvation of God, love, and unity,
I'd rather stand.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
*there are many more inexplicable things that men did or said, than they ever would have thought and un-become, transgressing grammatical conventions / etiquette to suggest that they might be conceived as mad, or simply incomprehensible - such that the expression of thinking would never precipitate into an equilibrium with being, to say as much or anything at all, along with the basis of phonetic encoding, was thought originated on the a priori Libra, or with foundation for experiencing hearing or seeing? whoever reads this... i don't care... most of what i write i don't care about... i'd chosen to be a bus-driver than any form of agitator.*
history is so democratic that, for some reason,
it remembers Louis XIV but not Louis XIV's gardener;
yeah, very democratic; which is why we love democracy so much,
so we get to incubate child-abuse scandals like
eating ice-cream... 'cos' it's so easy to just do by ignoring
the facts when the access toward avoidance
was marginalised... comedy is cruel, tragedy is tender...
history reveals that not being cruel to the tragic
makes the tragic persona the comic sadist;
and that by being cruel to the
comedian makes the immediate lack of persona
actually true, i.e.: oh right, your son was anally
misguided? well, sorry Timothy buckle i am for thee;
yeah, you guessed it... not really.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 8:26 PM UTC
What aberration would cause:
Someone to attend to such foul play,
As the annihilation that would pause
a life, one filled with the air their being draws.
What aggravation could possibly stray,
A sound mind into transgressing a written clause
Of which all human life agreed to in our laws.
What Delusion would bring someone to slay
Another human being, meeting the jaws
-Of death, as their heart is transfixed by claws,
Seeking to steal their life, unafraid to disobey
And attempt to take away the life of a young fraus.
This crime can not be mended by gauze,
Instead, on the heart it will surely weigh,
Until it infects the perpetrator and gnaws
Picking on every grain, every haws,
Til it unravels and will portray
The nightmare within, the criminal withdraws
From their sanity, only to begin a constant stream of guffaws.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 2:00 PM UTC
Trust, ties, tears, tears;
With setting rising sun,
just Truth remains.
Trinity's traits transcending to transcript,
The temple trusting the tryst to tall togas;
Truces, tangs, tangles, tags, teams,
with tricks or trills are tackled, tamed by
Those trained to taste the towering truth.
Taints, taboos, tattoos;
With cycling of seasons,
only Truth stays there.
Transgressing traps, talons, treasons,
Thorns, thongs, tides translucent;
These tapes, talks, tales transient,
Are trifles, tickles, trivial, trite;
To tribes treading the track of truth.
Talents, tacts, top techs;
Against infinite labyrinth,
Truth alone can pass.
Taut troops trotting the toiling trek;
Taunting, tapering the tonnage of trash;
Transversing tough tests of tempts,
Are trails of tiring trials, For
Those who treble the tone of truth.
Thrashing traumas to transfixing trance;
With beast or with beauty,
Truth belongs to soul.
Through love and death,
the true timeless tapestries;
Life translates to truth,
and becomes a happy moment;
The moment which is forever.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
that night
was
a place
adjacent
a shrine
thrummed totem rising
OOOoohhhmm-ing busting sifting
the hard
the oh-so *******
-hard-
mineral
that sits proud beneath my breast
always taking
deflecting
now
taken in
felt
carbon lattice wilt
this will pass
i've been
cared
for
her touch
friend love soul tall all pure
orbit of Oneness arcs above us
my chest
outside my self
reaching out of me
out of my grasp
wanting to be
more toward
the Other
my feat
inside the floor
where the beat is found
the hardness slips
for the first time
i wished to be human
and was
sliver in the diamond
shook loose
the sting of ME
wanting
transgressing
now outside me
the ugly is mine to hold
to observe
it killed me
i died last night
and
from that baseline goop
rose toes first
white-hot light dripping
from starburned furnace melt
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 10:46 PM UTC
I stand
and yet I move
some passers-by and children
I pour cold milk
and hold it
still
in my hands
I am not real and yet
what I may feel is felt
by others too
by transgressing imaginary lines
from here
to there
from him
to me
and thus to you.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
barred
from the body of paradise,
i seek for knowledge.
experimenting, transgressing:
the ethical act—
fleeing:
all the while in search of brick-like concepts
and comrades to throw them with
and build with,
whether it be barricades for the many
or shelters for all.
we'll look back, and say that our salvation was in fact the Fall
or we shall not be:
praise be to Eve, teacher of freedom,
the courage to stand, be counted, and refuse,
and love too;
praise be to Eve, breaker of the neurotic's dream,
my Venus and pioneer of the mind.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
The petal of your earlobe undisturbed by the locks ,
As of Eve, whose nightly charm was
Increased by stately Eden;
Soft air and the fortunate surface
Beneath you, are happy.
There your neck, half invisible, awaits a silent speaker on the skin.
No sound is heard, save a melody emerging from your mouth, unconscious, sweet as a summer bird's song.
God is pleased to see us, His children, exultant, without transgressing His laws.
---- Sarban Bhattacharya
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 6:10 AM UTC