"unclose" poems
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
174.7k
this door exists,
stately and staunchly it stands,
disheartening and terrifying it remains.
the door is unlocked, yet cannot be opened,
for in it, a path in time...
one decision that can affect everything
[such as my choice to wear the necklace you adore,
which lead to you noticing me for the very first time,
or my idea to play you the song that you fell in love with,
which i can no longer listen to]
...for in this door, one path
is intimidatingly located.
every bone in my body,
every last muscle, tendon, ligament
each artery, each vein, each capillary
every single nerve,
even each microscopic cell,
implores me not to open this tempting door...
[it is almost as if my hand refuses to grasp the handle,
to unleash the unknown upon me,
the colossal chain of events that would ensue]
the immensity of the unfamiliar,
the unexplored,
tends to perturb me.
change is unnerving
and is almost as chilling
as an abandoned graveyard at midnight.
but i bring my mind back to the door,
yes! this preposterous door that i have contrived for myself.
why is the **** so easily turned?
why does it not put up somewhat of a fight,
at least jolt me suddenly,
as to frighten my curious heart?
it is a constant battle between my body
my mind
and my heart
as to which doors to open
and which ones to leave ever so steadfastly closed.
but never once has there been such a struggle
for them to reach an understanding.
somehow my heart,
[even though a fraction of me,
a fist, dripping in blood]
is prevailing for the moment.
my heart reaches for the handle,
attempts to unclose the door...
yet, with the best of its ability,
withstanding my strong-willed
and obstinate heart,
my powerful body and commanding mind
overcome this hostile takeover,
and the door remains shut.
it is my body,
my skillful mouth,
my soft, rose lips,
my elegant tongue,
and my vocal chords...
all of these pieces must
contrive the words,
conceive the change,
which will unveil the path that will forever alter us...
slowly, opening the door.
being as in love with you as i am,
i will not let you slip away from my arms right now.
but when we are not together
[*i wish you’d have been there,
i needed you there*]
i stare at this humbling door.
if i wait too long, i’ll forever lose you;
for it is you who will make this choice for me,
opening your own door, fearless and dauntless.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
As rivers seek the sea,
Much more deep than they,
So my soul seeks thee
Far away:
As running rivers moan
On their course alone
So I moan
Left alone.
As the delicate rose
To the sun's sweet strength
Doth herself unclose,
Breadth and length:
So spreads my heart to thee
Unveiled utterly,
I to thee
Utterly.
As morning dew exhales
Sunwards pure and free,
So my spirit fails
After thee:
As dew leaves not a trace
On the green earth's face;
I, no trace
On thy face.
Its goal the river knows,
Dewdrops find a way,
Sunlight cheers the rose
In her day:
Shall I, lone sorrow past,
Find thee at the last?
Sorrow past,
Thee at last?
8.9k
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
It's oh in Paradise that I fain would be,
Away from earth and weariness and all beside;
Earth is too full of loss with its dividing sea,
But Paradise upbuilds the bower for the bride.
Where flowers are yet in bud while the boughs are green,
I would get quit of earth and get robed for heaven;
Putting on my raiment white within the screen,
Putting on my crown of gold whose gems are seven
Fair is the fourfold river that maketh no moan,
Fair are the trees fruit-bearing of the wood,
Fair are the gold and bdellium and the onyx stone,
And I know the gold of that land is good.
O my love, my dove, lift up your eyes
Toward the eastern gate like an opening rose;
You and I who parted will meet in Paradise,
Pass within and sing when the gates unclose.
This life is but the passage of a day,
This life is but a pang and all is over;
But in the life to come which fades not away
Every love shall abide and every lover.
He who wore out pleasure and mastered all lore,
Solomon, wrote "Vanity of vanities:"
Down to death, of all that went before
In his mighty long life, the record is this.
With loves by the hundred, wealth beyond measure,
Is this he who wrote "Vanity of vanities"?
Yea, "Vanity of vanities" he saith of pleasure,
And of all he learned set his seal to this.
Yet we love and faint not, for our love is one,
And we hope and flag not, for our hope is sure,
Although there be nothing new beneath the sun
And no help for life and for death no cure.
The road to death is life, the gate of life is death,
We who wake shall sleep, we shall wax who wane;
Let us not vex our souls for stoppage of a breath,
The fall of a river that turneth not again.
Be the road short, and be the gate near,--
Shall a short road tire, a strait gate appall?
The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear,
And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.
3.5k
Of the dark past
A child is born;
With joy and grief
My heart is torn.
Calm in his cradle
The living lies.
May love and mercy
Unclose his eyes!
Young life is breathed
On the glass;
The world that was not
Comes to pass.
A child is sleeping:
An old man gone.
O, father forsaken,
Forgive your son!
3.3k
Awake! Awake! for the earliest gleam
Of golden sunlight shines
On the rippling waves, that brightly flow
Beneath the flowering vines.
Awake! Awake! for the low, sweet chant
Of the wild-birds' morning hymn
Comes floating by on the fragrant air,
Through the forest cool and dim;
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O'er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.
Awake! Awake! for the summer wind
Hath bidden the blossoms unclose,
Hath opened the violet's soft blue eye,
And awakened the sleeping rose.
And lightly they wave on their slender stems
Fragrant, and fresh, and fair,
Waiting for us, as we singing come
To gather our honey-dew there.
Then spread each wing,
And work, and sing,
Through the long, bright sunny hours;
O'er the pleasant earth
We journey forth,
For a day among the flowers.
3k
it was like waking up to all white fume
or a long washline — masturbatory, feeling something stiff like a hand gliding
over a monsoon of emotions, the affect
jazz and the crunch of fragrance
forever like sandalwood;
on my way to Dumandan, i conjure an inward miasma of thrill, unfurled yesterday, today, or was it before when our eyes were fixated on the passing of things in myriad ways without any relevance to what has died, say wilted,
like a flower going away in closing seasons,
children in hurtling speeds at twilight,
gates welcoming a resounding sound of
rusting hinges,
slow rise of night, its vertical climb,
shadows collapsing on the Hibiscus
and the Poinsettia from the Cordillera,
dreary men taking out ******* throwing
them into metalloid beasts, verdigris
painted, grisly caravan of steel and
worthless scraps —
past neighborhoods thinking about
the simmer of onion and the hustle of
the feral over rooftops, clinking wine bottles undulating full to empty — both
unaware of acumen and only dizzying
ourselves mirroring each other eye
to eye and bridging this unclose-enough
a gap in between,
because you need it,
and i want it, or simply in reverse,
a sidewinding thought through dunes
of afterthought.
because you have to walk my side
of the Earth and I have to meet you
somewhere halfway where we can both
lounge at each other's steady presence
while the flyblown dry air ravishes
the piquant morning, all-telling what
this distance meant from its
peak up to the very last
traceable steps where i found you
and you found me, trilling in the neighborhood like how void
stills itself into all the mood of the Earth:
all moony and
fretting in the disquiet.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
At that hour when all things have repose,
O lonely watcher of the skies,
Do you hear the night wind and the sighs
Of harps playing unto Love to unclose
The pale gates of sunrise?
When all things repose, do you alone
Awake to hear the sweet harps play
To Love before him on his way,
And the night wind answering in antiphon
Till night is overgone?
Play on, invisible harps, unto Love,
Whose way in heaven is aglow
At that hour when soft lights come and go,
Soft sweet music in the air above
And in the earth below.
2k
(Margaret.)
I said: This is a beautiful fresh rose.
I said: I will delight me with its scent,
Will watch its lovely curve of languishment,
Will watch its leaves unclose, its heart unclose.
I said: Old Earth has put away her snows,
All living things make merry to their bent,
A flower is come for every flower that went
In autumn; the sun glows, the south wind blows.
So walking in a garden of delight
I came upon one sheltered shadowed nook
Where broad leaf shadows veiled the day with night,
And there lay snow unmelted by the sun:--
I answered: Take who will the path I took,
Winter nips once for all; love is but one.
1.9k
*Though our galaxy is
tinier than the eye of a smallest ant
Yet while loving you
I had a perforation is my heart
So big to swallow millions of such galaxies
Since birth this hole
Was occluded by
learnings and knowledge
And remained unopened
Till I saw YOU - my LOVE!
Rare it is
To unclose this hole
But just a glimpse of yours
Did the trick...!
Where, O Beloved
Where, O Beloved
You acquired this MAGIC
To open this hole in my heart
That can **** in the entire universe
In an instant
Just by a single thought
of LOVING YOU?*
Jun 14, 2015
Jun 14, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
carve your heart in me, love.
deeper and away, our tender kisses bid the full moon farewell.
the pungent swelter of breath and the verdure of leaving furiously sway in attendance.
i can see you now through the pane of the next minute,
moving near with a moment's fervent undulation.
together with anonymous eyes, the stars watch in glee
unsheathing the night, flayed like a bare bone.
your thigh's silken river, brindled and flowing like words
from any loose tongue fragile enough to break.
my shaking hands tremble with a fresh fruit's succulent emergence,
rid of alarms, wringing the wine out of it for mine to drink.
chanting the mellow, the bed whirls with noise
when all of these volumes slither back to their caves,
i will touch with my territorial hands, your body's ample darkness and choke its depth,
concluding the sepulcher with the lightsome fire of my kiss and its workmanship.
all the things we once left trilling marks on
remain stilled,
watching at the edge of the pantheon, our souls unashamedly admitting that we are uncertain with ourselves.
i can hardly surrender fears to your brazen feelingfulness yet as your fingers try to unclose what the winter of living has hidden in the shroud of cold,
i find in me that we are each to ourselves
like autumn's tawny daughters.
the gentle ray of your wyes searches me
underneath the tumble of virginal sheets.
your ******* tingling fleshly in the sharp
stab of the air's crisp arrival through
the windows.
going down and finding myself in you
(my tongue breaking free from my mouth's dungeon leaving all words
and soldering this avid yearning)
dancing inside you
in sempiternal motion,
i can feel the sweetness
at the verge of breaking
like the length of words reduced
to all-telling moans.
rising and falling in the stillness
is the aftertaste, leaving me bright in
youngness, laughing freely
behind whose flumine hair sleeps
in the eventide far from ending
as my hand still roams like a starved beast
in the jungle of slackening breaths
and gushes of blood,
hunting for something still,
drunk in believing that this moist venture
will lead me to an unfaltering belief
that it was your heart that i have had
in my hands, forever to endure—
these moments
and their stark absences.
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
Unclose my fallen, lost soul,
unclose my greedy, loving mind,
unclose my unsaturated, fastidious heart
with demolition of me on the particles of you,
with your shameless nails under fragments of my skin,
with your hands embracing me in anticipation of fondling,
with your playful mouth saying unprintable suggestions,
with your accelerated breath mixed with my breath,
with tempting taste of your saliva.
Stars in imitation of us kiss one another.
The rays of the moon belong to us.
In the darkness your skin whispers to me its enigmatic metaphors.
We write with touch legend of our bodies.
There is bold discussion between our adorned in sparkling details souls.
Half-embracing we sail to the edge of inspiration hungering hearts.
It's you and me in this sheets, in this bed, in this apartment.
We ran away from the hustle and bustle of the world,
from vulgarity, from obscenity.
We are beyond time , beyond sinfulness.
I have waited for your enticing, alluring gestures
since the first time I saw you.
I paint on your skin in the moonlit glow of my promises.
In your soul I have graven rite of passion of our hearts and bodies.
Everything we do stems from the insatiable hunger avid for ecstatic unity.
My heart tears in chest when I think about long nights
without your lecherous thighs, *******
and soul innocent, tiny like defenseless child.
I've been waiting for you forever .
Now when you are next to me
spring is coming in December
and dead volcano of lust exploded.
I burned past to ashes
and I live staring at the motion of your sensual lips.
Separation atomized with every moment of fiery intimacy.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
The mountains are waiting for you
Fresh air that wraps around you
They seem to notice you’re away
Wishing you’d be back someday
Those sparkling stars in the sky
That you miss to look at each night
They hope to see your face again
Before it starts to rain
That person who thinks about you
The person who wish that you knew
That you got everything in you
And can’t stop thinking about you
And she’s missing your sunshine
The way she reads all the signs
When you smile, she smiles
And then her dreams can go for miles
The door of her heaven is closed
You hold the key to unclose
Pull her to sleep in perfect peace
Be with her please
She wants to stop thinking of you
She wants to start to be with you
She’s missing you really bad
So she asked our help to call you back
‘Cause she’s missing you more than mountains do
Even more than the wind that hugs you
She’s missing you more than the stars miss you
She’s missing everything about you
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
( to which temple shall our in-betweenness kneel before
reft in ****** dark?
housed in parenthetical arms,
graver than a tomb's rhetoric—
washed in red of flowers, a swarm
of light arrives, waking the undeath
of stone.
from glib strife to downpour of
leaves — a morning unbound, unclose
the sojourn lay by the side of the
river, the single-minded cruise
to appassionata,
love.)
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 12:42 AM UTC
Shall I compare thee to
somewhere I have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too
like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in
red signals across your absent eyes
that move like the sea near
the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being
without knowing how, or when, or from where.
(i who have died am alive again
the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
I have loved flowers that fade,
Within whose magic
will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
I have loved airs that die
Before their charm is writ
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
.
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:
straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith,
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints - I
breathing from any -- lifted from the no
of all nothing -- human merely being
nothing but I told you so.
I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
die like a breath
And wither as a bloom;
Fear not a
mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is
unimaginable You
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes
so long lives this and this gives life
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
Whenever I allow myself to think of love, my mind runs
To the chambers where secret memories are stored,
In sealed chests, on high unreachable shelves, deterring me
From opening, dreaded Pandora boxes, stripped of hope.
Yet sometimes the endeavour to reminisce overwhelming
Feelings I struggle to repress, commands me to climb the stairs,
Unclose the safes of the unspoken, as I forbid tears
From pouring, out of clouded eyes, still loving.
You are there, with your roguish smile, chivalric deportment,
Statuesque poise, Michelangelo’s David, I compared, giddily
Gazing at your tragic features as if you were, the one
And only whom I could ever love, desire, crave, forgive.
Suddenly though not unexpectedly, intrudes the scolding guardian
Of remembrances, treating me as an impostor in my own mind,
A thief of frames concealed, yelling at me as you used to, reminding me
Of reality, your swinging lunatic humours, mercilessly lashing me with words.
Scars time will never heal, they lie when they say it will,
It has no power over what we were, nor can it erase even the slightest
Faintest flare of what we felt. Whenever I allow myself to think of love,
I still think of you, but that’s the maximum I consent to do.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
Your name was good news,
But the sadness in your face
Was hiding the light of your smile
And the slightest look would easily unclose me.
So I’ll keep you lit,
A small match-fire memory,
But only from dark can there be light.
Though now I have closed myself as fingers,
Leaving you unfairly, unkind,
Painful doubt in your eyes.
The last words to you of mine,
“You should smile more for strangers.”
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
sloping in a manner
where outside the brindled
world, light bends
like all else in loose wind
i can almost see
and make out with what
secret blueprint your
body works in its
mischief - or with what feast
welcomes the bounty of
your secret passages.
take this now. a pint of ether.
or something real like
this look on my face harpooning
your eyes unknowing of their
consequences.
just the subtle hint of
what my mind tries to
unclose in you makes
all shadows of my body frenzied
with tantric thought of doing
this and that and so much more
than just
this and
that...
like squeezing juice out
of the freshest fruits
or watching the rain
taint everything in picturesque
detail - or ****** of
butterflies on a clad flower,
or what the sea haplessly tries
to engrave on the shores with
its frequent, frothing thrusts
or making it all perpetual in
motion trapped in the bona fide
moment. say, i will
feign a moment of
colliding into you and
feel your surrendering force
imprint small indentions
without confiding in the exactitude of this domain where
i have you lured into my song
like a child put
to sleep.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC