"vapours" poems
Freedom At Kannyakumari
“The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms”
Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion-
of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision,
“The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”.
As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning
we Indians imbibe the Western Culture;
or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato
Indians are produced, transmuted
destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth.
Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now !
Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants,
by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour-
in every other respects-Europeans
(using imperialist - capitalist media);
poor sycophants ,for a visa,
the Indians: now , turn to the West for light,
leaving the bright light under the Urn;
cry for a way of progress, safety and food;
and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body
No retrospection or introspection,
only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection.
On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me,
a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep;
I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night:
the surging sea spitting frothing snow
upon the black rocky *******
protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair ,
ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha.
Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death,
I walked and walked searching shelter,
but no room for a single son with meagre wealth.
The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes
hummed around me with highly rented room offer-
source of tourism exploitation- I bargained,
till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon
cleaving the vapours of the sea,
when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri;
then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore;
somebody among them, staring blear eyed
as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed
“O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed.
The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze
that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
Social chaos metered out through tiers of population stung
By indiscriminate battle wrought lifeblood, incessantly, is wrung.
Why so the need for Assad’s torch, your Syria so needlessly debauched ?
Nameless causes fuel the fire, Shiite, Sunni intervention. Hezbollah and al Qaeda spew
Vindictiveness to streets of rubble, Toxic, killing vapours stew.
Misery to gasping children, horror in the dying eyes….
Condemnation points it’s staff to you, Assad, where vile blame now lies.
Why so the need for cities torched, Damascus needlessly debauched ?
Inevitably the missiles cometh, raining incandescent death and blast,
International righteousness throws intervention’s unknowns vast.
Why so this need for man debauched, Your Syria, once so beautiful, now scorched ?
Marshalg
Pukehana
7 September 2013
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
Sleep is timed to the minute,
my breaths let out lazy smoke
icicles make goose bumps into paragraphs
books written on my arms through yellow mist
bare feet in the morning on my rooftops
counting international planes in the sky.
My migrant bones take to the sky,
each moderate minute
that passes by on my rooftops,
increases the rawness of smoke
like lung-fulls of lemon mist
spewing a nebula of paragraphs.
In the murk of paragraphs
red papery ashes explode into the sky
leaving a cloud of syllable mist.
The last fragile minute
reduces my shivers to smoke,
a winter shell of shoulders on rooftops.
Double exposed film across rooftops
turn silhouettes into paragraphs,
a congregation of vapours and smoke
speaking soliloquies into the sky.
I am minute,
dissipating into canary mist.
Billows of ocean mist
make my fingers melancholy on rooftops
where a tidal minute
freezes salty foam paragraphs
a vacation from the sky,
my mossy perch and violet smoke.
Heliotropic smoke
spirals against dense mist;
fine rain blinding the sky
soaking lemonade rooftops.
My bed of paragraphs
curls into an illegible minute.
The lilac smoke in my eyes is almost minute.
A mustard mist wrinkles the paragraphs,
like the purple sky dropping over the rooftops.
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:46 PM UTC
We stood in front of my grandmother’s
Old almirah, facing each other
The peacock feather and empty bags
Of the square room fell silent all over again,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Then they all came, marched in, reflections,
Paraded in like martyrs of Brute’s History.
I knew them all, she knew them too
They came, touched us one by one,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She looked confused just like me
Watching life pass by, centuries reuniting
After a very long season break, nations-
Travelled, explorers stood upstairs watching,
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Streets strapped the coffee cans and middle-
Aged hospitals swallowed wars. Married women
Bend over like animals and in months, unable
To breathe they gave birth to few number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
The city vomited battles, human heads
And dreams of muted foul slaves. Men and-
Their violent tradition screeched for blue number-
Plates, lean number plates, handsome number plates;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Unexploded bombs bounced happy homes,
My brothers, my kids, my mothers
Blew their windows and ran, ran away,
Ran afar without destination;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They were all dark, their land was darkness
Or were we all blind?
Like a watchman we preserved darkness,
The vapours that filled their glasses did not speak;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
We are all reflections, ripples and mirrors
Of men-dead and living.
They all stood outside my almirah, million faces
Inside a mirror. She did recognize them;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
She did nothing, an unusable empathy rolled in,
The hypocrite did not even cry.
In quiet hours she smelt pain, blood and
History flowing from confronting corners;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
An insignificant obligation drowned her nerve,
They needed a home, candle flame, cotton and wool.
The land, their land has become unfamiliar
And they stood outside locked gates and laws;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
They all smelt the same blood, the abused blood,
I tried to kiss them and they kissed me back with-
Their cold lips. I tried to touch them, they touched-
Me back with water in their eyes;
Like strangers we stood facing each other.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Urns and odours bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
Balms and gums and heavy cheers,
Sacred vials fill’d with tears,
And clamours through the wild air flying!
Come, all sad and solemn shows,
That are quick-eyed Pleasure’s foes!
We convènt naught else but woes.
3.3k
Discharged outlet,
Putrid vapours released,
Asphyxiating, foul scent.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us—
Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up
By Ignorance and parching Poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;
Then we call in our pampered mountebanks—
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon,
By the lamp’s dismal twilgiht! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed
By sights of ever more deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distempered child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit healed and harmonized
By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.
2.5k
We are Manchester. The City, The place, we’re hospitable people with a smile on our face. You can beat us, mistreat us, and blow us to hell. We have had it all before and we don’t dwell. We’re the northern powerhouse of the northwestern elite, Where the Geordie's, The Scousers, The Yorkshire’s retreat. The premier League, The Roses Cricket, The Heineken Cup Is a one way ticket. United and City two football teams with stadiums full, bursting at the seams.
We are Mancunians Of this fair City, The People, The Love, The old nitty gritty The worker, The Shirker, The Homeless, The immigrants, each one of these they are all itinerants. The Steel, The Cotton, long since forgotten the old smokey chimneys blew out smoke that was rotten. The Massacre at Peterloo. Local politicians just don’t have a clue. With all the sights this city has on show here’s something that people don’t really know. Manchester is where New Zealand Born Ernest Rutherford split the Atom.
We Are Manchester, The City, the Place, where Sir Humphrey Chetham has his musical grace a school of music with musical taste. And where a man with a paintbrush painted streets on boxes. I don’t think Lowry ever painted foxes. And A comedian from Collyhurst who was absolutely awesome, a real funny guy by the name of Les Dawson, and where a man from Chorlton on Medlock became Prime Minister back in the day. David Lloyd-George had a hell of a lot to say.
We Are Manchester and it's the place for me. And a proud Mancunian I’m glad to be. I’ll sit in a cafe watching people pass by. They are all in a hurry and I wonder why. I see a business man in a three piece suit, and the homeless guy that is counting his loot. There's the girl on the street giving out free papers she is smoking those ciggies that give off those vapours. It's pouring with rain and she’s getting wet she’s worried about money to pay off her debt.
We Are Manchester and this is our City don’t waste your time we don’t want no pity. We are Manchester we are steeped in tradition we leave other cities standing. There’s no competition. Where A man from Moss Side a Vicar not a Dean called Rev George Garrett invented the submarine. And where the great Anthony Wilson was a journalist & impresario and a man named John Nichols invented the great drink called Vimto. and so When he wrote “This Is the Place” I’m sure he did so with a smile on his face. We Are Manchester and I’ll state our case because we are Manchester and we are ace.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
I.
Adieu, New-England’s smiling meads,
Adieu, the flow’ry plain:
I leave thine op’ning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.
II.
In vain for me the flow’rets rise,
And boast their gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health deny’d.
III.
Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanish’d joys regain.
IV.
Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal show’r,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departure’s hour;
V.
Not unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.
VI.
In vain the feather’d warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the ***** of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes.
VII.
While for Britannia’s distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonish’d eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
VIII.
Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe’s mantle o’er her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
IX.
To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crown’d,
Which cloud Aurora’s thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around.
X.
Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
XI.
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-England’s smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
XII.
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once ****** my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
XIII.
Thrice happy they, whose heav’nly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow’r disarms!
2.1k
When I flare my nostrils
I sneeze cordite?
When I pout my big lips
Does hot magma erupt?
When my gored orbs roll
Behold liquid blitz come
to judgment?
Fingered nerves claw
At the fragile fabric of sanity
Kamikaze dreams make horrendous
Enterprise at vanishing sunbeam
Clamourous amorous wishes
Purr vapours of invisible kisses
With the gods of fantasy
Clawing up the dark wall of hope
Plastered with ancient ivy of determination
To live and kiss another day
And weave another gooey dream
Or to live another flirtation
With a phantom lover?
Stainless steel roses
For my garden (please!)
For roses are painted red
By blood from wounded dreams
And dust puffed from rusting trust
Because life has been unfaithful
Snogging and ******** with another
LOVER! In my bed.
I have nourished mine love tree
With tears from swollen eyes of hope
And ***** from fat bladder of determination
Red blood from amputated limbs
Of self-sacrifice and selflessness
I have tried.
Undress your mind and jump into bed
My mind often has balled fists against a woe
Than has it kissed many a *****
Blasted Judas! you are the foe
You took away her innocence
There is no red stain on the white linen
Only red lipstick on my pillow
And chewing gum in my hair...
My mind still swoons
To be deflowered
Undress my mind.
-dougwa-
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
There's so much of us left in my blood ~
It's too thick ~
Flowing through me too slowly ~
Forcing my to heart labor ~
You could not breathe with me ~
I could not breathe without you ~
I'm drifting through time ~
It has no meaning ~
I'm catching vapours in the wind ~
But beloved ~ it's not enough
I need your touch ~
I'm not sure who I am without it ~
Your need to be free ~
My need to be held ~
Clashing together like thunder clouds
We created a violent storm ~
And so I drift ~
Catching thoughts of you ~
Only to return ~
When you want to feel the rain again ~
Copyright © Tia Jane Fajardo
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 2:05 AM UTC
He Crawls Deep, Deep, Ðeep in within your system
Blocks all thoughts and busts your ears
You cannot listen
Headless beast of nature with 100 vapours
That forces you to call upon skies for you great saviour
Yes, it is it is imported from a manger danger
You'll be praying "Hi Lord,I know I'm a stranger"
This is saying Peace
To all the human beings being still Patient
90's Kids Are taking over
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
Vapours appear as if by magic
On the blue canvas of the sky
Creating curious shapes
Or, is it a trick of the eye?
Cauliflower clouds accumulate
Into such a mountainous size;
Mushrooms seem to sprout
Right before my very eyes.
Next, a little white rabbit
With thin, pointy ears
And a mouse with whiskers
Shapes, and slowly appears.
Soon, a whole menagerie
Of animals come into view;
An elephant and a seagull
And even a kangaroo!
My, what a most impressive
Vaporous display;
Much too good to ignore
At the end of the day
As it’s then that these scenes
Appear at their very best
When the setting sun splits rays
And I feel my heart won’t rest
As it beats excitedly at
These pleasing pictures to view;
No artist could capture completely
A painting as lifelike, as true.
So, when you look up at clouds
And wish they wasn't there
Consider that these vapours in azure
Floating quietly in the air
Gently pour life-sustaining rain
Onto the thirsty earth
And thus, each cloud actually
Has a great deal of worth.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:18 PM UTC
Far below,
Swathed in mist,
A memory forlorn
Rekindled the glow.
A face swept past
A fleeting laugh
A glimpse, amongst the vapours,
A smile between the fog.
The thumping sound
A crash, unseen
A fall, unheard
A chaos, inbetween.
The periwinkle sky,
The golden rays,
A painted dream,
Of desires, ablaze.
Swirls of colours,
Whorls of fate,
Entwined destinies
A wish to make?
A sudden knock
On doors long locked
An awaited answer
A question never asked?
The cherished memory.
A moment's life
An everlasting joy
Of a short lived dive.
Jul 20, 2011
Jul 20, 2011 at 10:11 AM UTC
Visions of crystal cobwebs
swept up in awesome lies;
ambergris whisked scentless
to a sea-streaked sky.
Watching the melting snow,
feeling clouds of fire,
hearing the orchestrated chime,
touching every liar.
Morning passed, blue's forgone
for a quiet afternoon;
vapours pulled at all my senses
towards the rising moon.
Faint southern lights soon faded
against the silent sphere,
no starry sky was witness,
to your smile beguiling sneer.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
My mind is a ghost house,
Haunted by souls still trying t
still here
o be found.
Some live
still
Others,
mere vapours
still here
Exhale, then die, and resurrect in technicolour,
Only to expire
again
Like candles in an unexpected breeze.
The windows were left open
In the dark, the spectres
still.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
Vapours of scents,
Lunar crescents
Of words in amber -
Photons arise
In monochromatic
Moments of time.
Static sounds
Of nebulous breathing,
Neurotic crowds
Of memories weeping
Between scratched walls,
And monochromatic
Moments of time.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
HEY.!!!Yes
Do.you think I really give a ****
Do you think so.
Press the valve stem please.
Your head has gone all twisted.
Much more to life than Napoleon's cocked hat,and pocket billiards.
Little curl mid forehead.
You are nanite's sigh below expired. Really ?.
Take it in.stride my friend. See Naysayer for hire in the funny papers.
Place him behind you to the right
To keep away.the vapours
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Look at the sky, this can't be true,
The waves of passion splashing bright hue;
Wetting the world with sweet vapours, an aura so new,
Am I in the cradle of heaven? I have no clue.
I fear my churning emotions, vulnerable and timid,
Slumber is now a traitor under my closed eyelid;
Shhh … those are whispers of Aphrodite and Cupid,
Silencing all my doubts,”is it a sin I did?”
Never before have I fought a battle so sweet,
Arrows struck, heart swelled with its heat;
I surrender; in this war I gladly accept defeat,
Laying all my weapons at your feet.
I was a delicate glass, being filled with the royal wine,
Careful not to spill an ounce, even under the stress of a tine;
Could I enquire, such addictive taste exists in whose vine?
A magic which could make nectar out of nicotine.
How could a slight gaze invoke such mountains of desire?
Veins which never existed now tingle with fire;
In resonance to your presence, my senses change attire,
I can’t find my heart. Did you steal, borrow or hire?
Roars of celebration, as clarity weds confusion,
Heart and mind continue to exist as characters of fiction;
Is it LOVEocracy or LOVEarchy ? Hold election,
How have I been conquered? I need depiction.
The pixels of sanity escape, leaving behind tender pores,
How do I fill these? I spot only a single recourse;
To inhale the oxygen of happiness, I have none but a single source,
Who can squeeze, topple, and bounce my heart, without a trace of force.
I would reform from a flower to a drooling leaf,
Am lustrous and luminous only under your ownership, you thief!
You wouldn’t depart from this sack of gold is my belief,
I would always possess a memory of our time is my relief…
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 10:50 AM UTC
Winged caterpillar
That frees my soul,
Sets my mind to dreaming,
How the hand of man
Out plays the God,
Makes love
To its master.
With fondled fingers, you paint
A dumb firmament, the way
Light dazzles as it breaks
Or how the itching rain
Taps a teasing melody as it falls
To the lover ground.
Beloved of Orpheus
Whose wove you coiled in-
Vents a garment of bird song loom,
Content my breath
The way that water wells
And lolls into puddles
Nesting not before the hot,
Harpy steam.
O melodious pool,
Undulating lake, frame
To emotive vapours, without
Ship you ply in wakes.
The oarsman plucks the main,
Your body is the sail,
Drunkard winds and warblers,
Blow hard, but fail my ears,
Atone as well, the wretched sounds of day
For they are sour spells, and but a fools
Trash canned movements, in a state
So needy of weeding,
Mere sound is soiled
The way you rake.
Evolution spreads,
As stones do,
When moves the river bed,
Grace, in violence,
Sparkles as it blooms,
Like an ears creation—
Rose on the tomb.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
fuelled summer from my balcony
fumes and the deep night in heat
wilming frequency ridden under a flight path
the red and green eyes of the airliner
stare us down whither
descending the smokey stair
forest fires out west
my eyes are wiltered against
aggressive peppery air ***** creosote vapours
the view from my balcony
neighbours walk dogs
people earn their way back from the pubs
and restaurants and concerts
and some greatly received comedy show
and there’s the streetlight
; orange wash
this season
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 8:22 PM UTC
-from Venice: a tipsy gentleman
bursts into song for his escort girl
If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.
I know I am not the only one.
So glad to follow this tranquil lot,
these fine and happy admirers,
who bow to pay your offertory.
To join this choir,
these humble connoisseurs
who yield to your glory.
I stumbled, hit the bottom,
today lost all that I possessed.
My head, my mind, my soul -
so incredibly clear now,
ready to follow, eager to bow
for the urge of my heart.
To join this song,
sung in eloquent silence,
turning to the mystery of your feet.
This moment is eternity,
far away my petty desires.
It is perfect time, the only time,
never started, never ends.
If I only could admire your feet, forever,
I would pray to live on
and live on - pray, forever.
No sound, no sight, no smell, no taste -
this channel opened in my heart.
No boat, no lapping waves,
no misty vapours shining in the night -
just the clarity of clarity:
a foothold for us all.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 10:06 AM UTC
If I couldst show to thee the measure of my love, wouldst thine eyes shine in radiant hues? Smoulder then in deepest lapis blues, that put to shame the very rainbow's best intent.
If I couldst share with thee, the hottest of my humors, wouldst not the boilings in that abyssal pit, pale and mediocre seem, as 'twere mine, in compare? It would melt old Vulcans's anvil, adamantine!
Take for thee, these my softest kisses, which, placed upon lips, seeming to mine own essence, as pillowed angels breath, yet, those godly messengers own sweetest puckerings, as granite, to those of my mistress.
If thou couldst pluck from my chest, a still beating heart, wouldst not the sanguine, boiling streams, scold the unforgiving stones, on which they splash?
The fiery vapours rending air, as heaven bound they rise to paint the sky, incarnadine!
And yet, merely moistening that beloved hand, which holds, the fleshy, ruby prize.
Canst thou now measure, that which knows no measure?
And like heavens starried twinkles, whose beacons point the way, know this, infinite, is the measure of my love for thee, my mistress.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
existing only in the memory, in the mirror
sublime image, a dotted line
wanting, crashing, writhing fatally
imaginary conversations, air drawings
no friend to call mine, intimacy denied
crunchy brain turning to foam
classes blurring, ears ringing
banging the floor till wrists are bruised
profanity, cruelty, pretty girls hating
feeling unwanted by boys (and the girls)
invisible or dissolved?
dishonoured, disgruntled, disillusioned, disenchanted
how right I was all alone
my subconscious mind sending tremors
disconnection with my own spirit
"I am" I constantly whisper to myself
in the little gaps of time I'm not dissociated
fully aware of my material,
not a vaporised form
that I assumed from the treatment of others
vapours solidify, vaporise, dissolve and vanish
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 2:30 PM UTC