familiar strangers

>> Saturday, October 30, 2010

the temperate weather
chimes the turbulent dirge of
autumn, before launching the winter in -
I love, and always did, its grand
ineffable music,
foreboding and sniveling,
with its uncanny disposition of
release and ruin
as the day shortens to wintry span
the edge of inflamed sun blushes horizon
you and I, outdone by concluding rays,
hasten homeward

over this street and around it
is a placid twilight
the vivid moon, deep cerulean
ample meadow of constellations
soon make it a night for holiness -
there are no moaning winds,
not a friction in this knot
the lips utter no sound
my transparent cornea wafting in shadow
taps softly on your shoulder
you strain a tear which drops of itself
from the iris and skims its way
to spray the ground beneath your feet

nature, with her mercy and malice,
her pinnacle and corruption,
simulates that cosmos -
the human heart,
in which abodes, a paradox
centuries and seasons
discipline it to a quiet stature,
the incidental instincts
augmenting helplessness subdue desires,
sinful spirits in the hour of parting realize
that love and love alone is
the keynote of destruction

thus you and I, prematurely
before taking parts in this game,
when the stakes become abysmal and critical
silence that yielding smile,
forefend that inebriated look
at the bottom of which lurks
a fatal sweetness --
it has been a long night
the intermittent autumn tears
haven’t cooled my smoldering heart,
they have only set it steaming.

--


pS - Title Credit -
Perry Strange

--

pPS - we are trying to converse in poetry.. one for one..

now his turn to take it forward ..

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prosaic ..

>> Monday, October 25, 2010

To grope like this, in a supersonic stream of apprehension, sustaining reverberations and appearances, hiding bruises and blisters on the surface, could not be called living. I had unbarred the spout of passion and through it.. invited a stream of voices, sermons and mockery ...

I do not blame anyone for reviving these sentiments in me. I had a refuge from this ruckus of the senses and I could muffle the inner voice which acerbates my life. I could hush my scrutinizing reason, which moves to and fro in the brain, concocting fresh researches, and like a double-edged dagger severing every frail branch of my happiness.

Should the commotion which exults necessarily have a name? I would not disgrace my feelings by conferring common nouns verbs or adjectives, repeatedly misused by the wobbly beings. Can anyone feel what I feel? Such an entity did not prevail before; so there can not be a name for my despair or doom.

When the whole shebang tumbles before me and behind me; when the prosaic past stretches at the drab horizon like towny of the dead; when the future extends into a zilch; when I see my whole being enclosed within the cramped circuit of present, who could blame me if I’d tried in vain to hold thrifty present in my arms like an inflamed lover I’d embrace for the final time? Oh, if only I’d cherished the present and loved it as such ..

Given a chance, we flurry about, and would not refrain even from knocking down the next person in our way, pining to steal driblets from the fountain of lust, but aren’t we all identically fated to depart thirsting? I was soaked in this fleeting victory coz I’d tasted the forbidden love while you’d lurked in the periphery to rejoice my dissolution. Show me your ‘one’ virtue’ and I’d cease to be a sinner.

Most of us have perceived ‘self’ in the amplified reflection of passions, contemplated the drapery which shields posterity and then turned away shuddering from their own doppelgangers. Poets and seers have painted their fancies on this drapery in vibrant or somber hues as per their whims. Some of us sinners have succumbed to this ecumenical curiosity, and through well crafted duplicity have been led astray by their very own animated imagination.

From my passion I portent more despair. In present circumstances it may have been the most potent course of withdrawing from reality into a metaphysical dream. It was bound to reach a crisis and like a virus injected through artificial means it has expunged the inborn affliction. I am only a face of yesterday which would soon turn unreal, almost phantasmal and the print on the soiled page no more significant than a newspaper you read once and throw away. This search ends here. You were kind. Peace.

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verbal orgasm..

>> Thursday, October 14, 2010

I’d resolved; that beyond this treble of passion,
from warm security of infidelity,
you could also strain the rhythmic rumbling of
this terrific heart, and feel its faint tremors

after the stupor of a suppressed avalanche
can you ignore my presence?

thrust me yonder the lambent circle of
your sentiments, into the outer darkness
I’d haunt you with a troublesome persistence

the mere carnal instinct to sin
is a compelling force within
Oh, am young and fragile,
aching with appetite for life in its fullest sense

for it doesn’t make me suffer severely
as I’d ever suffer on bed, due to
the indifference of callous lovers,

or squirm in the muddle of the front lines
of ether-pungent whore stations

the sharp-toothed pain akin to stabs of pleasure
these invisible bayonets and visible bruises
there is morphine for tormented bodies,
no opiate for smitten spirits,

don’t stop me, let me convey in whispers,
with ostentatious tremblings, and daunted looks,

take me as I am from distance, and
mutilate my brain-power
drug it with your aroused depravity

turn me into a facile instrument of pleasure
and entrust yourself to me as such.

of what avail are these twinkling eyes
if they aren’t stricken between ecstasy and terror
honey laden limbs and its delicate curves
cups of fragrance we know as lips
and this round wonder of form called stature

yield to this penetrating tide that beats,
letting the intellect to go down beneath

thus we, with invisible marks, without affiliations
of any sort or illustration, would be tossed upon the world
to sink or swim, just as, the Pilate should decree.

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played out ...

>> Thursday, October 7, 2010

so you authored those sounds
pouring all fascination into tone,
to engross the theme that strove -
to soar upward

an inimitable combat,
in which beauty was distinguished,
by its semblance to another beauty,
insidious and phantasmal,
yet all too similar.

surging towards the author,
possibly by an idea
that I must mingle this life
with the life of a stranger --

who could so render my soul,
crystallize my secrets,
and give at least momentarily,
a coherent glimpse of love --

I perceived in that refrain
the hushed sky bending
speckled with lucent worlds;
the balmy swash of murmuring
fused with dulcet chords

down by the bulwark;
but my soul was, as it is,
benumbed-- my mind
always on the wire, was for once
utterly tired, and now

my very limbs ache, on my bed
played out, crimson with
alchemy of rejection, I’d at last
dispose myself, and I promise
there would be; no salty tears.


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Autumn..

>> Saturday, October 2, 2010

doleful music of autumn
how it stings my heart
like the refrain of

a familiar song
treasured in spring --

for an instant
my keys are stuck
as wrath and lament
chokes my utterance

prickled in veins
by tingling desires
I’d constrain myself

till the monsoon sinks
below glassy waters—

till the splash and splendor
consorting its departure
wanes –

into the clouds of
ethereal hues

which appear like
gossamer draperies
of vaporizing angels

till the tawny fringe of
apathetic moon
rises indolently
on horizon’s edge

and then
pacing forward
I’d claim --
the ascending road
to the Villa of Death..

--



pS - have scribbled a poem after a pretty long time -
perhaps I've written this just for the heck of it -
to move on from the previous sordid post ..

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