In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart

a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
                         breathlessly released
                              unrestrained,..

         ­                          evident
                    as the pressed and dried flowers
          cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
                         bookmarks of the heart

                         traces of the wild bouquets
                         that often soothingly caress’d
                         the energizing tingles  
                         inflaming a tantalizing touch

                         the yearning  empty voids
                         feverishly undressed,
                         traced in the hidden sands
                         of unexplored oceans..
                        
                         though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
  
                         as gentle feather’d touch
                         the evanescent sunset afterglow
                         where the earth and sky align
                         the dimming of the day

         loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―

                         the perennial dawning of an
                         unpromised new day
                         will someday come again

        bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
              flourishing in the meadow of my heart


                 *Someone you used to know

Empyrean Heaven (there is no promised land)



there is no promised land)

the promise is where you stand
at this exact moment, where you
stick the landing every morn best,
best you can, assess the window’s
first delivery of the status of where
you are, whom you are, bent or *****,
empty or full, impoverished or worse,
sated, foolish or brave, (dis) believing
the top of world is planted beneath your
feet; but above, at this the fiery places of

Empyrean Heaven.

Empyrean Heaven, nearest to me, thy there~thee
will find, beyond the heaven of the air and the
heaven of the stars, no land, the incorporeal
existence, carefree, know this you-human,
an unpromised state is the causal residue,
of actions between human to human,
not thy god, irony delicious, earn it
with every thought, instinct, act
deserving of this, this
“unpromised place”


G.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was, declared Saint Basil, a certain condition, older than the birth of the world and proper to the supramundane powers, one beyond time, everlasting, without beginning or end. In it the Creator and Producer of all things perfect the works of His art, a spriritual light befitting the blessedness of those who love the Lord asks of you~human.


———————
Jul 3 7:59am

Three thousand miles
navigating a storm
without drop of bad weather
Abacus odometer clicks
rotating forward ―  
spinning with the
world go round

Circling back down
a long and winding road;  
where unforgotten memories
were once searchingly explored,  
untrodden pathways
coursing way up north of alone
on the low highway
  
Now an aging shepherd
wonders without a compass ;
a vagabond deprived of light
from an ever blurring north star
Heart empty as a gas tank
with a broke down gauge,
running on fumes of hope
for unpromised tomorrows
Running from loneliness
just to be on the run

The gales of silence bellow
No feelings I can see ― lay me low

Wild-eyed daydreams
of Full sails billow out
through the windshield,
only hearing the unspoken
moments sigh restlessly ―    
The dull droning road rumble
re-sighs renunciatively,
a tired monotone voice
mimicking the loathe silent echo
wallowing in an
omnipresent hollow void
deriding unspoken chaos
between the passing centerlines ―

A frost heave pothole erupts,
with a leaf-spring rattling thud,
as a fleeting cloud of dust arises,
set adrift with the draught
headed off the east side
of the Alcan highway:
blown way outside the lines,  
towards the Alberta prairie

White knuckled steering wheel
held sway,  rolling down
a beckoning wilderness
          reincarnation; 
default reset button paused ― 
stuck in a moment ― until another jaw rattling
frost-heave pothole in the highway,
            jars it free

Leaving it all behind
like a sigh breathed
in a silence a heart has outgrown;
just a fleeting cloud of dissipating dust,..
         a paling whisper
the past seems to send forth
  like a fading last breath

Letting it all unfold to become what it is


     harlon rivers ... May 2018
       ... travelogue 2 of some

Perched precariously
Atop a pile of cobblestones
Strung out on
Suppressed fervor
Head high in the clouds
Spiraling in the sweep
Of a whirlwind
Of momentary delusions
Doused in vague
Prospects of merriment

Remember to descend

The wastelands of reality
Might plunder
All these un-promised ends.

I.
It is so simple.
Tuesday atmosphere bleeding
autumn rain down windowpanes,
the descent of fragile hopes
and hands intertwined a little
too tight for wondering.


II.
We are here; hazy within
the iridescent walls of my childhood home.
We slow dance to the fading refrigerator light,
our laughter reverberating down the stairs
I fell down when I was in kindergarten
and afraid of boys with loud voices.


III.
It is more complicated than they think.
We scour home decor magazines,
pointing at flattened apartment windows
overlooking the bustle of city chaos.
A young couple walks across the page
and into a dusk-painted room,
faces exuberant in the sunlight
of their newborn lives.
One day, we will be just like them, you tell me.
I almost forget that I have yet to turn
seventeen.


IV.
In my head, there is nothing wrong
with designing the future,
sketching myself into false realities
where I feel safe falling asleep
in someone else’s arms.
I have written myself within the spaces
of unpromised decades,
and I paint your hands, the ridges--
the crevices in which I have placed
an abundance of gemstone promises
that do not shatter in the light of something real.



V.
We are young
but I love you.
To the rest of the world, we are teenagers
clutching each other’s spines in grass fields
when we cannot even comprehend
what we are praying for.
Hold me.
I love you.
I cannot promise this enough.

If given the option of sinner or saint
I’d sin in a second if two were too late
to encounter this conscience, to conquer this Eden
however blasphemic, however forbidden.
And sinner I am if so be your will,
in pursuit but persuaded and powerless, still;
I pace as I pray for the Unpromised Land
of you in my heart, and my soul in your hand.

It may seem interesting, but is an undeniable fact too at the same time, that the so called 'simple world' that we dwell in, is actually 'not so simple' one and is instead way more mysterious one that we can ever imagine, until we've breathed the very essence of it!and I state this by my experience and the realization of it.

As the most adaptable & emotional beings of mother nature, there certainly are a majority of us, and around us, who believe in the the philosophy of 'Letting go of all thats no more important' and 'going with the flow', so as to ensure that peace and harmony dwells in life. But the real question amidst all this is, that do we really succeed in it all the time? Is it really so easy?Before I judge such a question, and draw a conclusion out of it, I somewhere feel, that you should better get that honor, of asking this question to your honest self, for you already know the answer.

Don't you feel that there's still a different force, from what we already know, which drives us from our very core so magnificently, sometimes? A force that we do realize, somewhere exists in us all, but we don't much believe in it,  since it's just so common, yet uncommon and & just so natural!

There are times when our when our heart doesn't agree with our mind & our mind does not agree with the heart either.A point of time, where there's huge and intense internal conflict going inside us, but a mere glimpse on the face, won't utter anything about such a situation.Remember those hour or days or isolation, seclusion, discomfort, disgust, disappointment, and anger, or that phase when you were just so  clueless about what next to do for it and for the life onwards.There  certainly might have been a voice amidst all this topsy turvy of life, that guided, soothed, and helped you get out of it.That very delicate voice inside you, you may still be thinking of.Yes, that is exactly the one I'm talking about! That voice which knows everything so perfectly well, but sadly the most unheard and underrated one. I wonder, why some of us, ignore it too often?

I've often heard this voice that speaks so loud in silence, but it is not the ears, but our minds and heart that can listen and feel it.It indeed knows everything! While I had been writing any of my chapters, it has always been with me like a faithful companion.Guiding, teaching, telling, and dictating me what needs to be mentioned.And it's not just in this aspect, I hear it often.Still the best part about it, is that we all have it inside us.

Our mind definitely is a mysterious place! It weighs so less, and does so much! It often takes us to different places, while our body is at rest & the heart then makes us feel what's  still  left unfelt.Sometimes I feel some thoughts about this  chapter and the others,just knocking at the door of my mind, some popping into it, wandering, bubbling, working, and some just getting lost in the breeze of it. It feels good, it feels great, both at the same time!It is certainly a moment of zeal and an interesting experience, when those thoughts play,walk, & some of them getting approved too from a special corner of it, that is, its administrative section.And, honestly, penning it down and pouring out those sentiments then, feels like a ' little victorious treat'

Sometimes in our life, we just decide things randomly, and go for it.Those 'random things' often are those we've least thought could even initiate or accomplish, but the very moment, when we give light, effort, and a tint of belief to it, it creates a spark that 's both fascinating and soothing.That spark is an we need for anything, and the journey of such works.I humbly concede it here, therefore, that my mere Idea of writing this book, was random!The title too was random.Tho, these thoughts that I've discussed about in the previous chapters, or will be discussing about in the chapters to come, are those that I've purely learnt by my personal experiences  of life and its different aspects.These lessons have long and ever lingered in my mind and some in my heart.

Also, I do realize this deep in the very core of my heart, that 'Life, in itself is just too grand to talk about!' and the mere lesson that each our morrows come up with are indeed tremendous!But it is often that I've witnessed, experienced and  learnt about some people, that they learn not until they get hurt hurt, and lose almost everything.The more we get acquainted with life in general, the more positively we take it, the more mature over the advent of time we become.The more open minded, perceptive and wiser we become, and that degree at which we philosophically see, and see through life, we certainly and eventually learn such lessons.It's just that not all wish to see both sides , and realize that life's bifacial too, when life's being good to them.And by saying so, I obviously don't intend to characterise myself as a superior one, since I too commit such a mistakes at times, and we all as beings normally do.But what exactly I wish to convey is,that, Its better seeing life with a broader and clear perspective when it has so much to bless us with!we  need to realize and least  ignore those little lessons that are worth being learnt.

I do not know what the other day may hold for me, and I'm sure you're unaware of yours too.Are you? Life, is exactly that uncertain!hence, live it carefree, but do care & let your heart bleed love and empathy for all that matters to it everyday.A tomorrow's regret won't fix what's become yesterday's story every time.Our tomorrows are always unpromised, until we wake in the dawn of it.And ironically, still amid all this we so happily and innocently tend to promise each other 'forever' often!

Our life, our tomorrows, are just as certain as the upcoming chapters of this book for now, the exact no. subject, and theme of the chapters, the ending , and how exactly will it end. In short, it's so uncertain! you can't predict the former, and you can't predict the latter.Or well, we both can't predict anything for now.Life's therefore more about "the realization of living in now and today, and making the best outta it!"

I was away for a while.
and I would be a fool if I tried to apologize

for taking the pen away when you needed to breath
but you've survived,
I've drowned you in my insane mind
and you repeatedly baptized.

And it seems like the only language you spoke was silence
yet the regret of agony is piercing in my ears

they say the hardest part of life is to heal
so I sat there  impatient carrying a mind of a widowed man
and a heart weak as an infant -  inhaling my empathy until traumatic memories exhale my lungs.

playing the blues on a phonograph and danced the grief away
its the melancholy that's banging on my chest; convincing me that I'm okay
It's the nights that hit rock bottom and built me by day

it's the thought of "I could do this all on my own"
and yet wandered vulnerable  in the streets in misery
because I couldn't bear the horror on my backbone

it's the emotions we kept  in hostage and doubted every good intention

it's the laughs in a full social room
and the mourning of emptiness inside
that sings  funeral songs
and we sing along.

it's the celebration of madness; a suffering a way to exist
it's the pens not to be reached; chains on my wrists
it's the night that felt like thousand nights yet  poetry spoke in lights
it's the fire we set just to warm others, and watched ourselves burn peacefully
it's the tests from God...God's mercy.
it's the sadness we thought it was, but it was all happy.

it's this life, the world of discovery
it's the love, the smiles of heavenly
it's the innocence, only the hearts can see
it's the struggles that we've adored peacefully
it's the unrecognizable mirror that built you through tragedies

it's you - the suffering you've romanticized in the name of illusion
it's you- that held the torch in the darkness and dreamt of paradise

you're the poetry I have never wrote
you're the words that are crawling out of a poet's throat

Oh, Passion?
where do you think you're going?
chasing you is like chasing the unpromised dreams
You've left a trail of forgotten memories,
I followed... only to find you and me.

(Awarded with International Elite Writer’s Award )

I crawl fast on my stomach
Over the gray fields of summer
The feet ached tramping up and down
Dug out from the memory of the hard days
Needless to look their safety as my own.
I listen the simple rhythms of the blizzard
All the night through
Cool them under the ****** coat of humanity
With a deep faith on what the warmth of the coldness can do.
The hungry child searching for a drop of milk
From the mother’s in capable settled breast
Palms return hopeless
An infinite voidness settled on two liquid eyes
But just consoles of the undone breast today
Would be overflowing tomorrow.
The heart stands still, with no passion to inspire
Yet, I think,
To wait for nothing is the final freedom
Water must run between two narrow cruel banks of the river
Never in all my life have I complained.
I fail to endure the terrible joy of my being a human
Of an unpromised tomorrow.

Copyright@ Dr Sudhansu Dash

being suicidal is like having a few hundred soul eaters compacted into the small space between your brain and your skull, and having them try to **** the life out of you, and for some reason you resist. it's like a game of push and pull, but it's one of you against a whole group of them. and you continue to resist, each day for three hundred and sixty five days over and over again until the years can no longer be counted on one hand and you come to the point where you just realise that there really isnt anymore soul left to defend and then you have to decide whether to continue to resist just for the sake of living, even if it's as an empty shell, or if you should finally give in for a taste of unpromised freedom.

The day now split
  drifts off unpromised,
  the dream remains with me

Our words as jewels
  now treasured pawn,
  their tickets burning free

The nights by measure
  mornings fled,
  those times you woke and lied

My heart remains
  my own to wed,
  your wound still deep inside

From spells you cast
   upon our gift,
   and quarried into stone

The past is black,
  the future gone,
  —this present mine to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

Nocturnal flower
In need of sleep
Your petals wilt
The count for sheep

New dawn unpromised
The die is cast
A croupier wearing
Sun’s setting mask

Through endless courtship
Faith on the run
A Jester whispers
“Your dreams have come”

The meadow waiting
Its reaper gone
New light unspoken
  —your buds in song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

of joy is in its trusted end
today I walk home and the sun lows itself beneath the white earth
a bird chirps in the solemn tree
the tragedy is in the knowing, in that
the brown-winged bird will migrate down and never come back—in that
the song will end
I see in your face but an instant unmeasured joy
and also,
that bird will die
and we will always say goodbye

our love (in held hands, in
enraptured dance),
like lost language dies—
the letters, rose in my cupboard
Polaroid I’ll keep (of you yesterday)
of interim element
belonging to the earth, and so do you

and I—
will imagine you approaching me
one day when you’re not here

today I will not have to imagine the laughing eyes, the curve of the nose, the cheek against my face, your whisper to me that your love is mine
today and always and always and always
today my fingers touch yours, and I trust
with baited breath
in unpromised tomorrow.

(and like a fool replay the
song
for a chance that we exist beyond
the refrain)

Sometimes,
in the shadows
of the early morning light

Resting in the
shade,
awaiting the beginning

And hiding
from the end
of all that’s unpromised

I watch
the questions disguise themselves
as often answered

And tuck
new whispers soft within,
—a certain change

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)

Sometimes,
  in the shadows
  of the early morning light

Resting in the
  shade,
  awaiting the beginning

And hiding
  from the end
  of all that’s unpromised

I watch
  the questions disguise themselves
  as often answered

And tuck
  new whispers soft within,
  —a certain change

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)

Sometimes,
in the shadows
of the early morning light

Resting in the
shade,
awaiting the beginning

And hiding
from the end
of all that’s unpromised

I watch
the questions disguise themselves
as often answered

And tuck
new whispers soft within,
—a certain change

(Chicago Illinois: July, 1977)

The day now split
drifts off unpromised,
the dream remains with me

Our words as jewels
now treasured pawn,
their tickets burning free

The nights by measure
mornings fled,
those times you woke and lied

My heart remains
my own to wed,
your wound still deep inside

From spells you cast
upon our gift,
and quarried into stone

The past is black,
the future gone,
—this present mine to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

The livery on fire
  its horses set free

Misery beckons
  the future to bleed

The gates are broke open
  all streets painted red

Death has awakened
  life dragged from its bed

One bugle is left
  blowing perdition’s melee

All swords are unsheathed,
  terror sharpens dismay

Tomorrow unpromised
  today but a curse

The monster has cometh
  —a hell upon earth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Nocturnal flower
In need of sleep
Your petals wilt
The count for sheep

New dawn unpromised
The die is cast
A croupier blocking
Sun’s setting mask

Through endless courtship
Dreams on the run
A jester whispers
Till sleep has come

The meadow sparse
Its reaper gone
New light unspoken
  —your buds in song

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)

Those footsteps ahead
  are now footsteps behind

The past but a memory
  the future declines

My cadence is slowing
  my direction unclear

When frozen in place
  on the wind I can hear

Quiet footsteps ahead
  louder footsteps behind

Their sound fast approaching
  to reclaim and remind

The years stay unpromised
  except for the end

Each step left unwalked
  trailing closer—portends

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2019)

Past
are only memories
a fractured mirror
a foggy dream
uncertain future
unpromised gleam
you could reminisce the scene
but never repeat the sin

The livery on fire,
  its horses set free

Misery beckons,
  the future to bleed

The gates are broke open,
  all streets painted red

Death has awakened,
  life dragged from its bed

One bugle is left,
  blowing perdition’s melee

All swords are unsheathed,
  terror sharpens dismay

Tomorrow unpromised,
  today but a curse

The monster has cometh
   —a hell upon earth

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)