"treacherous" poems
The horror, the rain,
The misery, the pain.
The factors of teenagehood
And its ghostly being.
From nasty rivalry,
The silver teardrops quench the
Hunger of discaring boys.
They move on to their next victim.
Words like love, hate, *****
Are thrown around and toyed with.
Teenage socialism is a witch,
Sweeping misery across the generation.
Heartbreaking, the look in their eyes,
Well up with tears, victims to lies.
Teenagehood, it grasps you
By its crooked claws.
From your peace, it rips apart
Your soul and leaves damage in its trail.
Why do we have to suffer?
Why can’t we return to the world?
The world we loved and cherished.
Toys and songs, now perished.
Puberty, hatred, fear,
They all add up to one phase in life.
With its treacherous fangs.
Hurt from distrust brings misery near.
With sympathy to all,
For a long journey ahead.
Hold on to your sanity,
For the reason you have previously read.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 10:46 AM UTC
You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?
and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?
and the rain repeatedly spattering
its words and drilling them full
of apertures and birds?
I'll tell you all the news.
I lived in a suburb,
a suburb of Madrid, with bells,
and clocks, and trees.
From there you could look out
over Castille's dry face:
a leather ocean.
My house was called
the house of flowers, because in every cranny
geraniums burst: it was
a good-looking house
with its dogs and children.
Remember, Raul?
Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you remember
from under the ground
my balconies on which
the light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?
Brother, my brother!
Everything
loud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,
pile-ups of palpitating bread,
the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statue
like a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:
oil flowed into spoons,
a deep baying
of feet and hands swelled in the streets,
metres, litres, the sharp
measure of life,
stacked-up fish,
the texture of roofs with a cold sun in which
the weather vane falters,
the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,
wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea.
And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings --
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to **** children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.
Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!
Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!
Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.
And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?
Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!
23.3k
Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
where the restless oceans pound.
I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.
I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.
21.1k
How do you taste a woman?
Do you let your breath
Take over her skin
Or do you,
Gently
Uncover
Her treacherous,
Deceitful, delightful touch?
Do you take her sight for granted,
As if it was yours to own,
As if she would
Never vanish,
Or do you know
She's nothing more
Than a chimera on a wall,
Than Clotho's spinning thread
In an ancient story of forgiveness...
Do you trust her soft and humid body,
Like a silky cloth soaked in
Spicy peppermint oil,
Or do you fear
Her lips
As if they'll
Harm the pulse
Of your easily grown
Desire for all that she has enchanted?
Do you let her fingers linger
Somewhere in between
The locks of hair,
As they were
Her only to poses,
And make them come alive
Like serpents shadows on a desert's moonlight?
All in all, a woman cannot be
Taken for granted,
As she isn't there
Only because
You see her
Near.
No.
A woman is
A passing shadow
For your mesmerized vision.
A woman is that summer rain
On your heated body,
Or that devastating
Storm on a
Moroccan
Desert.
She is both
Dust and wind,
Love and hatred,
Hope and despair.
She is nothing more
Than clear, cold water.
So drink the woman
As you taste
Water
Turned
Into good wine
And tell me, stranger...
How do you taste a woman?
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
The downward momentum is clear to me now.
The engine has built up a full head of steam.
I’d try to stop it, if I knew how.
The fires of industry must burn on somehow;
they tend to burn brightest when fuel is extreme.
The downward momentum is clear to me now.
When currents are surging, we shouldn’t allow
the jingoist fringe to swim in the mainstream.
I’d try to stop them, if I knew how.
Civility means more than I can avow,
but poems can only allude to a theme:
The downward momentum is clear to me now.
Each click of a mouse that shouts holier than thou
is a cog in a treacherous clockmaker’s scheme.
I’d try to stop him, if I knew how.
We worshipped the circuit and forsook the plow
in search of a false technological dream.
Our downward momentum is clear to me now.
I’d try to stop us, if I knew how.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 1:07 AM UTC
There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
Black
Dark, Dreary
Frightening, Hiding, Scaring
Dead, Silent, Cold, Treacherous
Blinding, Gleaming, Flowing
Peaceful, Pure
White
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 8:27 AM UTC
Under the sheets of emotional armor,
A shy little girl masquerades as a martyr.
She’s the Queen of Deceit with her lies getting smarter,
While every tale told draws her self even farther
From finding out why she’s emotionally bothered
By all of the men in her life: like her father
Who only was trying the best for his daughter
And striving to be something more than a pauper
But coming up short. Who knows how much harder
He’d try if she wasn’t an argument starter?
The guilt and the shame from the family slaughter
Has made her insane and continues to bar her
From finding out just what the world has to offer.
Luckily she won’t have to be here much longer;
In fairy-tale land, there's nothing can harm her.
She suddenly finds herself all alone
With nobody’s thoughts to address but her own.
This is the time when she’d pick up the phone,
Demanding a savior to hear her bemoan
About all the problems that she’s ever known,
But what she doesn’t know is a friend can’t atone
For the lack of a man with his patience to loan
To a lost little girl whose bad temper is known.
All she needs is a strong one that doesn’t condone
All the treacherous lies and the hatred she’s shown.
It’s hard to deny all the reaping she’s sewn.
She’ll have to tread soft lest her cover is blown
And everyone finds out she still hasn’t grown
Through the hundreds of tempers and tantrums she’s thrown.
Hopefully soon she can bury the bone
And calm herself into a nostalgic zone
Where smiles and candles were filling her home
And love and affection were all that was loaned.
Enlightenment comes when you realize you’re prone
To the wrath of the heartache that comes with the throne.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
He was swept out to sea and lost to the treacherous waves
His head broke water once or twice but he couldn't be saved
God did smite him to spite him for all the love that he gave
And he looked up to heaven and he forgave
As he washed away there was no earthly thing that he craved
For what good does it do to curse
When disaster strikes you while you're at your worst
And you are stuck wishing the waves had taken you first
And dragged you out forever to sea
He found himself unable to break through the current, so he ceased to be
His forlorn lover waited like a stone upon the beach
To catch just a glimpse of the man she could no longer see
A man who had taught her what it was to be free
Now is it fair that he had to go?
Is it right that nobody knows
Where his soul went after his body went down below
Dragged out into eternity by the undertow
So she sits and waits for his return
Though it was long ago that his fate was learned
Because still her body yearned
For his seasick touch, caring and concerned
Then one day she finally broke down
As the waves receded and there in the sound
She found his body drowned
And his soul was no where in sight
The whole time he had watched her on that beach
Forever waiting and wanting but out of reach
"I'll be here waiting forever" he silently screamed
Just waiting for her to cease to be
And as she walked out in the waves
She looked to the sky to not be saved
And at that point she was filled with dismay
She didn't know if she'd find him there
At the end the air burst from her lungs
The ******* sound of the sea made her undone
And they were reunited as one
Two souls lost forever at sea
There was such beauty in her death
Her fearless attempt to reach across the stretch
of desolate darkness past the confines of the flesh
Just to find that she would be with her lover yet
Under the waves forever
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 4:49 PM UTC
120 seconds.
2 minutes.
That is all it took to change my life,
to shatter my heart,
to take my childhood.
Locked between four walls,
stuffed between forgotten papers and books,
I was made prey for my once trusted predator.
Now I understand that I have never stepped outside of those walls.
Those walls have taken refuge around my heart,
and surrounded my mind.
They have preserved the initial scars,
and have supported the hatred, sadness, and pity for the hunter and hunted.
These walls have held me up until now.
Life without them seems intangible,
treacherous.
They protect me from another life-changing two minutes,
but they also shield me from the light.
I want that light.
I want that freedom.
I want to live.
Every nail that I remove leaves a scar,
every board I break off makes me vulnerable,
but I think it is time.
My heart needs room to grow,
and my mind needs to learn to trust,
to trust that life is worth living,
to trust that life can be kind,
to trust that I am worth it.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 6:27 PM UTC
Like the gold at the end of a rainbow
Lives an angel off the coast of San Diego
A dark skinned beauty with a sunshine halo
Found her in the water and just had to say hello
Her siren voice still echoes in my head
Whispering my name so gently
with her bated breath
Her blinding smile is still burned into my eyes
Even in the dark of night
or against the great blue sky
On a vacation escape from reality
I found her, or maybe she found me
We fell into an ocean of sensuality
Until we were lost at sea...
Aquarian Mermaid
I swam in her lust
and I drowned in her love
Nautical Erotica
Wishes granted
By the gods above
Dearly beloved seraph
Enchantress of the Sea
Sing your magic siren song
Heavenly, to me...
Angel of the Oceanborne,
Navigate me home
Across these waters treacherous
Everywhere I roam
Her siren voice still echoes in my head
Whispering my name so gently
with her bated breath
Her blinding smile is still burned into my eyes
Even in the dark of night
or against the great blue sky
Aquarian Mermaid
I swam in her lust
and I drowned in her love
Nautical Erotica
Wishes granted
By the gods above
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
The moment for us to say our goodbyes has come
Our eyes will flood then we’ll be on our way
A final farewell to what once belonged to both of us
Times run out but we have plenty of regrets
My brown eyed November
You’ll never know what you were worth to me
Even after the fights, the excruciating frustration
I would walk on broken glass barefoot just to get to you
To be honest there isn’t much I’d do for you
But now I can’t do anything
I gave you everything and you walked away
I know, but you don’t
Have a clue how much damage you’ve done to me
I never told you my secrets
I never told you everything
My brown eyed November
You don’t know how much you meant to me
The moon fall and the sun rise
Shine on our lies
I knew you were treacherous
Yet I still clinged to you hoping maybe it would all change
Let’s end this, I want it
I need to calm down
My brown eyed November
You are truly invaluable
The ocean bathes us the sand dries
Cleansing our lives
You couldn’t care less
My appreciation goes unappreciated
If it isn’t and I am wrong
Please, now is the time to tell me
The karma
Bad karma
The cause of all of this
The memories of you will stay even when you are gone
Mistrust will linger but hope resonates
We’re like summer in the fall, we’re leaving
Mistreating, believing
After all this I don’t want to be your one and only victim
What do you care? You never believed in soul mates or in true love
I can’t stay, even though I want to
You gave false hope and empty promises
Injected me with a tranquilizer and put me in a state of gullibility
Was I dramatic or miserable?
I know you can’t be replaced, why would I want another one like you?
So good bye my brown eyed November
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
A blank page waits for words that it will never see
Created from the head of someone writing a story
Characters, plot, setting, theme, are central to the tale
Without them every narrative is simply guaranteed to fail
Stakes and consequences must exist for someone to pursue
Whether treacherous of heart, or noble, brave, and true
And if these traits stand not alone but mixed in with the rest
That simply adds more intrigue to the outcome of the test
Will he get the girl? Will she rise above her station?
Can a rags-to-riches fable captivate the nation?
Who done it, where and why? Are three questions most effective
But often ****** requires the help of a detective
These may seem like idle, fragmented bits of a much larger whole
But actually they’re not; every type plays a role
For you see, “someone” mentioned above is not a professional writer
But an individual on a journey, and we all must face it like a fighter
Characters are those you know and love, plot is what you choose to do
Setting is where you live, theme defines what is important to you
So why a fighter you may ask, someone who faces pain and strife?
Because we encounter both good and ill as we write our book of life
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Love, why do you make my heart bleed?
It leaks thick red plasma that stains on my fingers
As I try to conceal the pain and hide it deep within
My own two hands reach up and take my breath away
The lies you speak catching in my lungs
Forget keeping appearances, I'm suffocating
The answers seem so clear
As I gasp for air
In shock I stare down at my hands in horror
As I find they are replaced with your own
This sudden display leaves me in disbelief
I don't want to see all the truth coming up to smother me
I wasn't smart enough to stay away
From those treacherous arms that promised safety
As they had planned from the beginning
To clench around my throat and liquidate all my strength and glory
Before we even said our first hello's
You planned the end before we began
Love, I will make your heart weep
What you give out comes back to you
I will get you on your knees
Begging for forgiveness
Till they become bruised and give out
I will break you down before you dare to believe you've won
If you are iniquity think of me as your karma,
You will never win
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 1:47 AM UTC
I. Your touch is like bones breaking; unforgettable, and breathtaking.
I know that normally people don't associate love with broken bones
but even when you cause me pain, I am still so effortlessly in love.
II. On the day that you made me yours,
you rekindled a fire in me that I thought
had long since died.
III. And in those eyes that resemble speckled emeralds,
I see a future brighter than I could have made for myself.
The feeling is treacherous, to love someone more than yourself.
IV. The thought of you lingers in my bone marrow,
and it doesn't leave, not even in sleep,
you live within my bloodstream.
V. You ignite a fire inside me,
hotter than I knew was possible in relative existence,
and every day I burn for you, slow and consistent.
VI. Sometimes I wish you would strip me down
and love me like a limited resource,
like I'm a priceless medal, or gem of iridescent hue.
VII. You're the type of guy that gets me to put my phone down
and that's an accomplishment in itself.
you're more interesting than the internet, and that's romanticism.
VIII. Your kiss is like electricity, but instead of electrocution,
you send shivers down my spine,
and put the sparkle in my eyes.
IX. They say that home is where the heart is,
and before I met you, I'd never been home before,
you are my home.
X. I've run out of words to tell you how much I love you
so now my next mission is to transcribe a new language,
to do just that.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
The righteous and brave die but one death,
but what if they die for those very reasons?
As cowards stand tall in gleaming armour,
holding treacherous ****** knives in their hands.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
There once was a man
Whose livelihood was rubber.
He worked long and hard; and wore a tan,
He was a plantation tapper.
One night he packed,
In haste after a long day of toil.
Quickly had his belongings all sacked
Under light from a lantern that reeked of kerosene oil.
He was ready, flame from the lantern he did ****
Overhead, the midnight moon brightly shone.
Bound his sack to the rack above the rear wheel,
Mounted his bicycle and soon he was gone.
The dirt trail leading back,
Undulating with gravel all strewn.
Almost treacherous this forgotten track
He only relied on light from the moon.
The air was cool just like any other,
But something was different about this night.
Squinting ahead he spotted a figure.
Flagging him down was a lady in white...
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
In the dimly lit chamber, we set the scene.
An owner and his pet, a game of primal and prey.
She kneels like an eager dog, a collar around her neck.
He stomps his feet and keeps her obedience at play.
The owner, like a magician, keeps tricks up his sleeve.
He wants his pet to learn— to be his student and please.
Commanding her to crawl, to fetch and beg.
Waiting for him to call her a good little pet.
She barks and whimpers, a puppy in passion.
Spins three times and licks her master’s feet without a whine.
The pet surrenders to her master’s might.
She delivers his sturdy leather boots in a straight line.
With a flick of the whip, the pet curls in elation.
Her master chuckles at her sounds of temptation.
Submitting to the cynicism of ******* and discipline.
She is flogged like a plebeian, forgetting she’s a citizen.
Pet and master, a bond so strong.
The two are bound by zeal, craving one another.
She wallows in the comfort of her belly rubs and treats.
And runs around with a rush of red in color.
She goes through treacherous training.
And yelps if she’s ever caught complaining.
Waiting for a tasteful gift: the eternity collar.
When she is ready, he puts it on with honor.
Jun 16, 2024
Jun 16, 2024 at 6:25 PM UTC
Leafy ferns and little frogs
Toads live in the garden
Weeds and grass and daffodils
And poop...I beg your pardon
Yes **** is in there from the cat
That roams around the houses
Just pick it out or grind it in
It should be full of mouses (meeces or mice)
There's ceramic figurines in there
Little deers and little dogs
To go along with little stones
And plastic little logs
But, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at
There's ******* blown from up the road
Candy wrappers and old tins
The neighbor kids are lazy so,
They never throw it in the bins
The cat lies sunning lazily
Beneath a summer sun of gold
With it's job of chasing meeces down
For a while, put on hold
There's ivy, climbing everywhere
And things you can not tell
They got there from the squirrels
But you keep them for the smell
But, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at
You tend the garden lovingly
Moving figures in and out
You never move the gnomes too much
Too much trouble, I won't doubt
You transplant flowers, move some trees
Cut the weeds back, till the soil
You head inside, the whistle blows
The kettles on the boil
While you are gone, something goes on
The gnomes attack the cat
You come back out, and wonder why
The gnome has lost his hat
yes, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see he's looking at the cat!!
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:09 PM UTC
He held my hand today in the most delicate way,
as if my fingers resembled flower petals and my
palm reenacted butterfly wings. My hand felt
fragile in his grip, which mimicked my feelings
towards him because his heart did not belong
in the spaces between my touch - his heart
belonged in something as light as air; something
as delicate as cotton. And my heart was tattered
with thorns, assured to shred his into pieces. All
the more treacherous, he traced my fingers be
tween my mittens, and it still felt like fabric -
contrary to your inevitable static. And that is
when I knew that even though he did everything
right, he made it that much worse. As much as he
tried, my frost-coated lips challenged the warmth
in his voice, and it wasn't me he needed. It was I
that needeth not deserve him.
gd
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
crime, staring competitions, tears.
these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.
your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.
i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.
but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;
but we'll never forget.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 2:29 AM UTC
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad sir Lancelot du Lac.
When first he came to Camelot
The orphan knight, Sir Lancelot
Did prove his worth to Arthur's Court
In jousting, and such noble sport
And with his charm and courtly grace,
His confidence and handsome face,
He won the heart of Guinevere,
And so he found his heart's one fear.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
In tournaments and deeds of arms,
He never fell to earthly harms.
His Lady's scarf about his breast,
He held aloft his knightly chest
And for her honor always strove,
And worshiped her with courtly love.
But she is wed, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Beneath a tree, the young knight slept
And one day, four queens on him crept,
The chief of them, Morgan Le Fay.
With magic, they stole him away.
A choice they begged of him to make,
That one of them his heart should take.
But love is strong. They had no luck
In tempting Lancelot du Lac.
When Melegans stole Guinevere
A cart, Sir Lancelot did steer
To reach the hold where she was kept,
Then toward the treacherous knight he leapt.
He bested him with slash and blow,
But to Sir Lancelot's great woe
His Lady simply laughed in jest
And saw no honor in his quest,
For he arrived upon a cart.
Thus, broken was the young knight's heart,
And in a rage he left the place.
He longed just for his Lady's grace.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
The young and bold Sir Lancelot
Had shunned the lady of Shalott
And all the swooning maidens, dear.
His heart belonged to Guinevere.
And were she not to Arthur, wed,
She'd have the heart-sick knight instead.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of sad Sir Lancelot du Lac.
So when he quested for the Grail
He made a promise he would fail.
He said he'd not love Guinevere,
But as he spoke, he shed a tear.
He knew one day their love would end
The table round, and hurt their friends.
So when this promise he did break
The land of Camelot did quake.
For Agrivan, King Arthur, told
His wife did love Lancelot bold
And Arthur sent her to the pyre
To end her sinful love, in fire.
But Lancelot, his queen, did save
And Arthur fell into the grave
And all the knights of Table Round
Were torn apart, could not be bound.
And thus the fall of Camelot
Was caused by one Sir Lancelot.
But so it goes, such is the luck
Of bold Sir Lancelot du Lac.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:29 PM UTC
They set off from white rocks,
red geraniums, blue tile,
and let the green sea
lift and drop their ships far above the white foam waves.
The stony islands that were home
were swallowed in minutes by the hungry Atlantic
but they hunted the big fish,
the giant whales with human eyes
who rolled and sang and swam
in oceans a continent away.
They came from Sao Jorge, Sao Miguel
Faial, Pico, Terceira, Horta -
Nine island emeralds set in a black volcanic chain,
neither of the old country nor the new:
Halfway there and halfway gone -
secret jewels of the Portuguese sailors.
They sailed into unknown waters,
south around tropical shores
where dragons smoked and writhed on the rocks
and birds with brilliant red and yellow plumage
rose in clouds around their heads.
Then north, and north, north again
to colder waters
where sea lions barked and lunged
at the strange massive wooden beast
that coursed the waters,
strung with brown bodies swaying
on the lines and cursing the sails.
North still they swept
casting contemptuous eyes on
the cheap turquoise waters and monstrous slow turtles
of the Sea of Cortez.
Coming up from the desert, past the palms and the yucca,
the Joshua tree and Spanish daggers,
they chased their smooth grey prey,
riding the vast Pacific on their wooden island,
herding the leviathans onto their spears,
adventurers with an audience of only
gulls and sky and seal.
Until they sailed too close one day
to a rock-strewn shoreline
and saw the golden hills.
Gnarled oaks like grandmothers from home
with orange poppy jewels at their feet,
missions strung like beads in a ruby marked rosary.
The boats slowed, ****** in by a Scylla of soil
rich and brown and loamy
waiting to be seeded with grapes and apricots
peaches, avocados, lettuce, alfalfa,
fertile and heavy with sweet promise.
And the whales sang and the lions barked and the gulls cried
but the sailors were entranced, encharmed, ensorcelled.
The treacherous sea, the mysterious deep, the stony jewels of home,
called and wept
and waited in vain for the sailors
- beached and grounded -
cutting not waves but earth,
tracking seasons not whales,
seduced by dirt.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
*Bheed Mein Ek Ajnabi Ka, Saamna Acha Laga
Sabse Chup Kar Woh Kisi Ka, Dekhna Acha Laga*
**Within a crowd, facing of one stranger I liked
Hidden away from all others, her staring I liked**
*Surmayi Aanchal Ke Neeche Phool Se Khilne Lage
Kehte Kehte Kuch Kisi Ka Sochna Acha Laga*
**Grey colour below the eyes, flowers begun to bloom
Talking and losing of her thoughts I so liked**
*Baat To Khuch Bhi Nahi Laikan Uska Ekdam
Haath Ko Honton Pe Rakh Kar Rokna Acha Laga*
**It was all nothing but suddenly
Placing of her hands over my lips and asking me to stop I liked**
*Uss Adoo-e-Jaan Ko Amjad Mein Bura Kaise Kahoon
Jab Bhi Aaya Saamne, Woh Bewafa Acha Laga*
**O’ Amjad how can one say anything negative to that enemy of life
Whenever she came before me, that treacherous I liked**
— Translated by Jamil Hussain, Poet Amjad Islam Amjad, Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 5:56 AM UTC
I'm tossing and turning
In this ocean of hormones
Washing away the remnants of my childhood
Washing off my innocence;
Hitting me in the treacherous waves
And in the rocks and pebbles there
Drowning me in the depths of humanity
And soaking me in fresh knowledge everytime.
Sometimes I enjoy the ride ,
Other times I feel afraid
Oftentimes, I wonder
If this would ever end.
I don't even know why I'm going through this
I don't know if it'll help me with something
Perhaps later in life
I'd understand why this is all happening.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC