Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.135.237.153
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem

My poems are words with soul - Silent One.

 As a monotone morning sketches 
charcoal trees under 
smoke filled foggy skies,
rain casually falls,
sliding down slate roofs,
causing havoc for traffic
on bustling roads.
Red lights seem to shimmer,
shining through shades of grey,
as the sound of raindrops drip
against my BMW's black bonnet,
my mind drifts nonchalantly,
 discarding beeping horns and FM beats.

I ponder
is it an act or is it an art
this thing they label as life,
living with a formula formed and forged
from a mix of experiences and emotions.

I begin to question myself.
(why do we do that?)

I seem to have adopted a sense of vulnerability,
fusing feelings of fragility, 
since my hair infused into silver (yes I chose silver over grey) - 
something my father warned against.
But I'm not as tough as him,
although he wasn't half the man I am...

Yet what I have seen and heard,
has ultimately made me who I am today
and in all the suffering I have 
always searched for the light -
Rumi was right.

Maybe I'm too open minded,
too fair in this field of selfish spirits.
Maybe I'm not loyal enough to my beliefs,
which contradict my moral compass
and philosophical projections,
but I've never claimed to be saint.

My soul is telling me to shut up..

I've always wondered if I'll ever be understood..
At least I understand me - but is that any consolation?

It's not as simple as wisdom accumulating.
Sensitivity of a smile can never be underestimated.
You have to peer beyond the verbal,
non verbal - comprehend the action.
Sometimes I feel unloved,
many times invisible,
yet I seem to come alive in loneliness.

Would I be a plaintiff or defendant
in a court of your judgment?
I will always represent myself.
Words with speech have never been true confessions,
as my thoughts are too deep,
sometimes too unreliable,
that's why I never pen them down -
it scares my soul (who tells me again to shut up).

I wonder if I make sense. Soul calls it nonsense.

Green flashing circle says I can go.
An abrupt end to contemplation.
Sadly grey tones and 
tints of tiredness remain.

Simple Musing
8 December 2023
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required