Dark are the stones of this fort,
Dark they become in time’s cruel games,
Some stone couldn’t stand the test of time,
And on the ground they have fallen, long time back.
Once the fort guarded lives of dreams,
Now it stands as a monument of those dreams,
Dreams that outgrown time, Yet still lingered,
All around the fort, invisible, yet heartfelt.
What magnificence once filled this fort,
Greatness never feared to distinguish,
But those who never felt the greatness,
All from the forces from outside extinguished.
Though the fort stands empty from inside,
The lingering air, the very air one breathe,
Fills in those great feelings so wonderful,
But succumb to the understanding,
All that felt, just a waste of time.
The lingering mist whispered,
Into the heart of the bud,
“The hour to wake up and see,
Is kissing on your lips,
From that kiss time takes,
Scents that will fill the coming spring”
Wish eyes were slow enough to see the birth,
Of the first flower of a hope filled spring,
The running time pulled along the hopes,
To stretch beyond every image dreams can see,
Still the sprouting bud of rose brings,
A smile on face and a twitch in the heart.
Be it the cold of the long lost winter,
Or the naughty old wind that lashes fast,
Hey you shown the bold resilience,
To out grown in age with perfection you defined,
Still the beauty lingered like the mist,
And embraced heart erasing every bitterness of past.
Blossom O the symbol of my pleasantness,
Blossom my heart too in the colors of love,
Let the walls of crust that keeps you close fall,
And do not waver in the coming storms,
Hurting me with those little thorns,
Leaving a loving heart to bleed in pain.
Elton John – I’ve Seen That Movie Too
An old man in the shade of a patio, sitting,
And listening to the warm summer rain,
Thunders cracking through old oak trees,
Furious for some unknown loses.
The old record playing mind soothing jazz,
Sax played the notes in perfect harmony,
Of the rain that tickles the soul deep,
The after noon sun too bathed,
In the pool made by the dancing rain.
The ebony tail of the English pipe stuck,
On The corner of his mouth leaving,
Smoke through the other side of the mouth,
Deep in thought, Oh wonder what he is listening,
The music from the record or the music of the nature,
Deaf he is not as nature sure reached his ears,
As for every thunders he shook like a dead leaf.
Though the records played one by one,
His mind far back in reverie,
About some days far back in his noon time,
Smiles through his face flashed,
And the lightings in counter point, joined,
But in the happiness of him that filled.
His soul and another soul he filled,
Which upon his smiles and still glowing showed,
No lightning, colors, rains or blossoms,
Of nature is in anyway a match.
The rain played on and on like a broken record,
And the evening lingered along with the rain,
Smile after smile filled the nature,
And none lived now who can understand,
As thirty years passed after he blew,
His hundredth birthday candle.
What a fulfilled life he lived,
With a candle in his heart lit,
By a darling girl in those noon time days.
The early night sleep left with the dream,
As darker and darker the night grown,
Still the echoes of the rain in mind’s ears stayed,
And a face in mind’s eyes still smiled,
And far away with all her loving naughtiness she stayed,
Still the very thought of her translated,
Every bit of the dream from subconscious to real,
That started the moment sleep and dream left.
I have finished editing the book. I never thought I will meet the deadline but I did. I added couple of poems in the end. In all there are 115 full poems in the book. Some poems none seen before. The book contains two sections, which are collection of poems written mostly in 2006 and 2007. Yesterdays and Romantic Feelings. Here is what the collection of poems Yesterdays is all about
Months passed and rotted away,
Like tree leaves in Autumn days,
A winter passed and a spring bloomed,
Summer scared the spring days away,
And when warmth everywhere I feel,
The days and months passed,
All look like fairy tales told,
Heard and died away along with childhood days,
Still one face evergreen stays,
In mind, in the depths of soul,
Where in all honesty that face don’t belong.
Sixty days I will spent in my try to write,
In these days I will try,
To move through places, lives of people,
Through the good, bad, dirty and ugly,
Paths of life with only one aim,
Get rid of the face from my heart,
Once more through writing I will try,
To leave a loving feeling.
These are writings about those days,
Written a day after those days into past gone.
Did I succeeded in that try to get a face and all feelings I felt about that face out of my mind? Wait until the book comes out, spend some money and read all that I have gone through in that effort.
Here is what Romantic Feelings is all about
Mind to mind, mind went,
Gathered every feeling,
Every emotion from all those who shared,
Went through day to day events,
To connect to minds that spent,
In the ordinary paths of cities,
And the country gravel roads.
Where life flourished in pains,
Laughs, outbursting anger,
Sheer frustrations and audacity to write,
Write about it all in the eyes of a lover,
So here I dedicate my writings to all who loved,
Who love and will love, my romantic feelings.
Hope you all enjoy the book when it comes out… Have a great week ahead all of you.
As I am in the middle of some busy time editing my new collection of poems I didn’t write anything new. So I thought I will give you a rerun. Here is one of my favorite poem from my first book.
This poem was written in Albany, New York. It was first posted inXanga.Com PoetryBox blog site on October 21st, 2005.Later this poem was added in the collection of poems called “Age OfSurvival” which later in August 2006 was published as a book.
In 2003 while driving with a colleague fromMilwaukee, WI to Overland Park, KS I got a phrase or title or whateverone may call it in my mind. It was this “A Ballerina’s Whisper”. Atthat time I always said this around many a timesannoying my friends. I was saying this to myself during thedrive from Virginia to Albany in October 2005. Haha I got it all figured out during adrive in which towards the evening the sky colored up really well. Itreminded me of the aurora and all I wanted to write around that titlecame into place.
There is fiction and fantasy in this poem thatcame out completely from my imagination. The part in which I am sayingabout meeting a girl in a train is taken from an abandoned poem I wrotelong time back in San Francisco sometime in 2002. So the ‘poetrybox’ really helped tofit it all together. There is a real part in this poem I myself did not havehad any clarity about it when I wrote the poem. So the poem itself is inconclusive. I think youunderstand what I mean. Love always eluded me between cup and lips. SoI myself don’t know the end of it all. That is the core I thought aboutthis poem.
A Ballerina’s Whisper.
The northern wind blew on to my face,
With no fury but with mercy,
A face warmed by the heat,
All wrinkled up as every bone shrunk,
With heavy feelings of life held upon.
Oh’ that fat old moon too rolled away,
Behind the clouds, darkness swept through,
The cityscapes where upon a skyscraper I sat,
Watching changes, feeling the pain,
Of the unhealable wound.
Though the moon hide away behind,
The clouds moved westwards and scattered,
Dragging the moon down and down,
Then from the north came another wonder,
Splashing across the horizon aurora in colors unseen,
In my amazement first I stood still,
Then went down the streets and walked,
Away from the rumblings of the city madness,
And saw the most beautiful dance of nature,
The best and most beautiful ballerina, I’ve ever seen.
She floated like a swan then breezed over,
On the tip of the clouds she turned and turned,
Fading away from eyesight,
Then jumped back in thousands of colors,
Leaving every star motionless,
Though light years away they are.
She split into every pattern,
A Kaleidoscope can make,
And rolled right over my head,
The cold wind indeed added the blessing,
The dark clouds far, far away,
That was more than any dream,
That was better than the perfect illusion,
One by one my senses filled and fell pray,
To the beauty of the dance enchanting,
My sight with the kaleidoscopic patterns filled,
The smell of air by the northern winds purified,
Every bit of my body touched,
By the wind so gently as if like a feather,
But nothing my ears heard,
I wondered about the silence,
And closed my eyes for a moment,
Then I heard a girl’s whisper,
“Don’t thou ever shut thy eyes to my love”.
I opened my eyes and saw,
All the colors in full bloom but paused,
Then they all started to fade away,
A long streak of light still showed ahead,
And in a distance I saw the aurora dancing away.
Back to my home went I,
And days passed by like the counting beads rolling,
I’ve never seen aurora in that magnificence,
But those words still in my mind filling my senses,
But in the busy city life dealing,
With the materialistic life day after day,
Among lost thoughts and dreams discarded,
Buried the echoes and patterns of that night.
One day during a late commute,
From work, in the small letters of a newspaper lost,
My senses and I closed my eyes,
And there were those kaleidoscopic patterns again,
I opened my eyes in surprise to find my station,
And through the snail paced fattening crowd I hurried,
When squeezing out I found a mid teen girl standing,
Her face with makeup all colored,
Her eyes, golden hair and the smile I noticed,
Thin like a stick but still pretty in her own way,
Also I noticed the way at me she looked,
Not as a stranger, but someone strangely familiar,
Paused I and paused my senses too,
As she blew a kiss in the air,
In my surprise for a moment my eyes I closed,
Within a second my eyes I opened,
By then her lips on my ears I felt,
Then into my ears she whispered,
“Don’t thou ever shut thy eyes to my love”,
And made a turn on the tip of her shoes floating,
Into the train as the door closed.
Perplexed and amazed I stood there helplessly,
As in my surprised amazement once more a glimpse I stole,
Of her smile and her waving hand in the moving train,
While those words once more echoed,
Through every corner of my body and soul.
I was asked to submit the final manuscript of my new book by the publisher. So I don’t know how much free time I may have to be back here often. I will try my best to keep in touch with you all but it is me, the unpredictable. Also I need to get a job….
Now I love people visiting my site. Some leave comments, some just come here and go away. But I don’t like people hitting on my site like 50 times a day. You all might have seen me saying about the District Of Columbia guy. It stopped after I wrote that post. Now he/she is from the country of Qatar. I have your IP address, host name and with that I can locate you to your bed room. I know someone in Qatar, my cousin’s son, he is one who have the same name as me. I have some wonderful luck with him. Every time he contacts me something terrible will happen to me, like losing my job. Recently he called me and asked me if I can get him an IPhone. Daang within the next two weeks, Walmart said, bye bye to me. Still I got him the phone. But I don’t think he got any time to read poetry and have time to visit my site like 50 times a day. If it is the Emir of Qatar, buddy there is a link on the left hand side that says “Send me money” deposit a big sum of money I will send you a copy of my first book so that you don’t need to spend half of your day hitting on this site. If you are looking to buy my book, the links are given below. The second book is only going into printing once that is available I will send you a copy of that too. But if you keep on hitting this site, I know how to get ya and I will.
I just finished reading the last chapters of “Tess Of The
D’Urbervilles” to finish the poems I am writing about the character. It is spring cleaning time.
So it is good to start the spring cleaning early. First I cleaned up
the virtual home, LonelyPoet.Com. That site was infested with spammers
registering into my site. So no more registration allowed and I moved
it to WordPress. Then I thought I will clean up my boxes. Trying do
that gave me a neck pain so I came to the recliner and sat and typed
this into Google Docs page.
This poem should speak for itself.
The last bit of winter consumed,
By the Vultures of nature leaving,
No trace of the frost and cold.
Oh’ what a wonderful way for nature to clean,
Those died away and bring forth,
New greenery upon the old,
Long way away to see those blossoms,
Still cold-free rain lashed around as blessings.
The gathered dust upon old cupboards,
With the feather filled hand broom cleared,
The books, Oh’ when dust free smelt good,
But those old shoes still stink,
At the corner of the closet.
Paper after paper gathered,
Most kept just for keeping,
Most just of no good use,
So into the shredder they went,
Then into the big recycle box.
Old bags, crockery all stood in mockery,
They all filled in the cartons,
And found their way out through the door,
Oh’ one times passion gone wasted into trash.
Old car gone, new truck filled in the garage,
Old clothes gone and closets half empty,
Though half empty the wallet craved,
To be used in the newness of spring.
The vacuum cleaner went to every inch of the house,
Anti-bacterial spray cleansed the micro ones too,
The old pictures upon the wall glowed,
As only eyes fell on it in the winter gloom.
Everything cleaned up and some went to trash,
Some to charity and when day came to an end,
Order and discipline along with the smell of spring came,
And filled the mind leaving smile upon face.
When stretching legs upon the recliner,
Thoughts from the depths of mind came,
Oh’ none of the tools and crafts one know,
Can clean the mind from those memories,
Holding the beautiful ones, trashing the bitter ones.
What a gorgeous day it was wow.. 73f and light breeze that brought the
smell of spring. It is good news for most of the people and I love
these kinda weather too. But to people who really know me as a poet,
they really won’t be happy. As opposite to what many may think, the
poet in me goes to hibernation during warm days. Well he did not go too
far as work came to a grinding halt. My boss got some personal issues
so she is not available today. She didn’t gave me anything to do. So I
leashed the poet and told ‘write you old, ugly, lazy bones’ by around
4:43PM, now it is 5:07PM. Enjoy what he did.
Fingers pressed on the guitar fret,
And from the burning mind flown,
A tune strummed on the shiny strings,
As night gathered around the weeping horizon.
Standing on the melting ground,
He saw nothing, heard only the tune he played,
Somewhere in the depths of that mind hidden,
Are some words that makes no sense.
Everything in senseless machinations fought,
As nothing completed in fullness in life,
More wrath than any other emotions felt,
But they all faded when her face in memory came.
Oh’ his love for her was like plot less novel,
Or like the diary of a celibatic priest,
Only imaginations lived its life leaving dreams,
And feelings that pierced him with wrath.
From those feelings himself he relieved,
When he expressed the depths of his pain,
As broken tunes played and forgotten,
By a musician he never was.
I will never say the subject of this poem is mine. I cannot say that asI looked at someone else’s post and wrote what I felt about it. Thatgirl may never agree with me. But I say what is in my mind, that’s justme. It means no offense. If it takes that I should repeat what I saidand saying a billion times I will do that as I feel that right.
Compelled by the flow of the world,
Nothing seen around but the roaring fears,
All in material born, lived, dead and gone,
And she remained confused in her thoughts.
Nothing grabbed those outstretched hands,
Those who touched slipped away,
Some in tears, some with mocking smiles,
Time tightened the grip all around,
Like an overflowing river.
Confusion led to suspicion,
Both led to frustration,
All led to isolation,
What remained, breathless silence,
And a feeling of guilt for an uncommitted crime.
Oh’ in every way the world complicated,
Life with misery and competition,
Where what left was jealousy and pity,
When she forgot to show compassion, to oneself.
In the simplest of wisdom commonly known,
Live as who you are and with what you got,
But as the world sinks in a waterless ocean,
Where dreams are made of illusions,
Than any thought of reality,
It takes more than courage to swim against,
All that comes at her to drown her.
Stop where you are and look where you are,
Beware of the steps you take,
What is meant of for someone else don’t fit on you,
Be not lost even in the first step to life you take.
There is a guiding light all around you,
There is none better than the maternal half,
From your five senses why not spare one,
For a moment or two into the wisdom of that life.