Tag: poem

No Ambiguity

Does not the sky obscure the worlds afar,
Insuring all gods who abide in light?
Summered have we on planet Earth so far;
And we know what’s hard here is for them light.
Mothers have sure mothered billions of souls,
But who begot the first mother d’you know?

The New Normal

Traumatized, she returned home, with her soul shattered and defeated.
Her husband welcomed her back, in the chirpy way he usually greeted.
He told her to freshen up quickly and join him in the kitchen.
That him cooking tonight didn’t mean she didn’t have to pitch in.
But all she wanted now was to cleanse herself with a long shower.

What Do You Ween?

They aver fourteen worlds exist, my friend.
Stories untold, unheard they narrate.
And I look at them with wonder;
To nothing much I relate.
Life never ends I hear;
And that there is fate.
I’ve though no fear,
spite or hate.
Come here.

What if I Told You Two Moons Were Beheld?

What if I told you moons two were beheld
that glimmered and shone like those diamonds mined?
I ween the halcyon days you’d call to mind
when we spoke of the sky, stars, acts withheld.

The Last Draft

Last night I had the strangest dream I’ve known
for as I lay in bed, my conscience soothed
I heard a growl of graveled baritone
and sat up straight as something subtly moved.
I saw a hooded figure dressed in black
that loitered only inches from my bed,
it wore an awful satchel on its back
and through that cloth I saw that something bled.

Inside Igloos

Frozen arctic hearts
Caged in cold shells
Imitating elegiac eskimos
Incarcerated inside
Icy igloos idling while
Introspecting intensely

The Preachy Saint

Fourteen nights he spent at the Himalayas great,
each night speaking about one world;
He touched topics good and bad, spoke at length of fate;
A ‘secret’ the last day unfurled.
‘We have our souls quite well covered
by a layer we all call body,’ he declared.
Then as if smitten by thoughts, roared:
Life’s uncertain, what matters is now, not how you fared.

The Trouble With Having an Open Mind

The men who dwell on land theirs state they have an open mind;
No trouble may happen upon they feel; ‘We are always kind!’
Some biding with those men but sense there is something amiss;
They say they’re having a tough time; ‘A thing or two we miss.’

Ode to Every Mother

What makes a woman a mother?
Oh, pain and patience will I say;
She sure knows not how to other
or to keep care and warmth away.
Oh! A mother hits not the hay
when her kids are hungry or sad;
Embodies love, for kids does pray.
A mother’s selfless, with love clad.

The Mysterious Mirror

Hangs a mirror on the wall of the abode seen
with a demeanour mystic, queer, fine, indiscreet.
Shows it to each who sits in front a stolen sheet,
telling truths revealed to none, a shaming scene.
Oh! The past returns to haunt those who there have been.

Thesis

The Sun shines silently, scattering light
as we sit ourselves down by the sea
that shows the sky sempiternal.
The sea seems to say something,
something that shall surprise.
State I solemnly,
‘Sea, speak thy mind’
Silence screams,
the Sun
melts.

Box That B!

Buzz bees about as bombs blast, boom!
The letter ‘B’ brazen bickers and boos.
Be that as it may, beings work not be.
Breaching banks, blare bays, that d’you see?

Tackle Each Strife

You know quite well there are minds that suffer;
Those minds, it is trowed, are anxious and sad.
But why d’you judge, mock those minds at supper?
Ween I what you do is shameless and bad.
Let me tell you what transpired once, dear lad:
A few years ago, I’d willed to take my life;
for days seemed like years, those years made me mad.
Struggle hard the mantra then and tackle each strife.

The Strange Library

It happed when I wended my way across a teensy town,
to that wood eerie, silent, dark;
A library stood beside the park.
It well drew my attention, for its entrance had a clown.
He seeing me did nicely bark;
And looking into eyes mine, said, ‘Hark!’

Autumn Is Beginning

Glimmers sun ours as the day looks bright
though the clouds float like spirits unbound;
Autumn is beginning, for the leaves seem light
hues they sport unclear and unfound.

When I Look Into Your Eyes

I when look into your eyes vivacious,
Behold I all the airs you did cultivate.
I mind days those you were bit flirtatious,
at times hark back to those nights intimate.

Who Designed This World?

Here thoughts arise with sight,
and fade away like floating clouds.
Days appear like dreams seen at night
And nights seem like the tales I read daytime.