My Philosophy of Connection

I connect with a rock

Not because it knows

The meaning of hardness

And endurance

But only for the reason

That it exists

I too exist

Thus I learn

To connect with all

 

Posted for Brian’s prompt @ dVerse ~ Poets Pub

Prayer is Power

“Power may make many earthly gods,
Where gold and bribery's guilt prevails,”---From the poem Death by John Clare

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We are their sleepy dolls

Holding our hands in fear

Set before the high pedestals

Where the earthly gods stand

Weaving meshes of mirage words

To entangle each one of us

To dance to their tune

And become parched

We whisper prayer

To wake up from this mesmerism

The touch of each of our hands

Warms us

We feel the gushing of stream

Each droplet made of dream

In our limbs

We stir with life

Holding a flame in the heart

We flare up

Their word bubbles burst

We come out of the noir-trap

 

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Power @ Poets United

Last Song of the Dead

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The guillotine voice whispers

An eye for an eye

We lost our land and eyes

Eons ago

We subsisted on black milk

Before decapitation

We cling

To the little root of a dream

Of a Child of Sight

To open all eye

Before this hour

Shall cease to be

 

 

I have used Paul Celan’s poems, Fugue of Death; Ice, Eden and O LittleRoot of a Dream as my inspiration. This is for the hapless victims who lost their lives at the hands of ISIS fanatics

 

Written for Grace’s hosting Sunday’s Mini-Challenge: Paul Celan @ RealToads

 &

 Sharing it with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Night

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Din and bustle sinks

Beyond the horizon

Rest alights

In her dusky wings

My bleeding heart

Becomes the dark sky

My thoughts of you

Twinkle

All night

 

 

Posted for Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Night

Flute Player

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The Dark One*

Played His flute

The peacock feather

Attached to His hair

Swayed by the breeze

Yamuna** shivered

In pleasure

The little butter-thief

Stole everyone’s heart

Vrindavan is still there

So is Yamuna’s flow

Where Art Thou

My flute player

Make my heart Thy Vrindavan

Come Gopala***

Live here

Play Thy flute

Forever

  

*Krishna ^[1](/ˈkrɪʃnə/; Sanskrit: कृष्ण, Kṛṣṇa in IAST, pronounced [ˈkr̩ʂɳə] (  listen)) is considered the supreme deity, worshipped across many traditions of Hinduism in a variety of different perspectives. Krishna, the Dark One is often described and portrayed as an infant eating butter, a young boy playing a flute as in the Bhagavata Purana,^[3] or as an elder giving direction and guidance as in the Bhagavad Gita.^[4] The stories of Krishna appear across a broad spectrum of Hindu philosophical and theological traditions.^[5] They portray him in various perspectives: a god-child, a prankster, a model lover, a divine hero, and the Supreme Being.^[6] The principal scriptures discussing Krishna's story are the Mahabharata, the Harivamsa, theBhagavata Purana, and the Vishnu Purana.: Wikipedia

**Yamuna is a river

***another name for Krishna

 

Posted for the prompt Flute given by Celestine @ A Prompt Each Day

Wonders

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So many times in this life I said, wow

Because of the things I read, heard men say

All of them compelled my wonder to bow

 

Every century Earth’s rotations slow

Dinosaurs saw twenty three hours a day

So many times in this life I said wow

 

Dying stars smell like seared steak, astronauts vow

While raspberry scent comes out of Milky Way

All of them compelled my wonder to bow

 

Cosmic Soul’s sense of humor is not low

His cloud of alcohol is there to stay

So many times in this life I said wow

 

This big bubble called universe is now

Moving, keeping its countless bros at bay

All of them compelled my wonder to bow

 

Humans destroy and build, let love, hate grow

Bards cannot lie so sing them in their lay

So many times in this life I said, wow

All of them compelled my wonder to bow

 

 

Posted for Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

Only a few were born free

Since the birth of mankind

They had a sky in their heart

Where an eternity of love dwelt

Truth was their mother tongue

They were one with every object

Living, non-living

The path they had trodden

Led to the dawn of freedom,

C i v i l i z a t i o n,

They had left a trail asking

To leave everything and follow

I hear their call

I listen to the song my soul sings

The song of freedom

Am I not tethered to Desire?

Alas!

Freedom is seldom for those who are

A slave to the senses

To the mind

To the body

 

 

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Freedom @ Poets United