Best Sagas Poems
Meet me in forever,
where the moon enclasps
the enchanting
heaven above us,
for you, are the music
playing on loop,
and we are like
unrhymed verses,
dancing amongst
lyrical constellations~
waiting to be aligned
as a sign of love.
Sometimes, obsidian hearts
will never feel the raging fire
they rise above and beyond,
as untamable phoenixes,
ascending in burning hues,
to the eden in our
warm embrace,
interlaced with
soft summer skies,
where love finally feels safe,
flowing in silvery
aisles across
a lake of flaring firestones,
a home for dreamers,
residing in fields
of ever blue
forget-me-nots.
When twin souls
are entwined,
by sacred wings of angels,
descending through
vermilion gold beginnings,
I question every
nightingale that sings~
what could be the melody
that would unveil the tune
to orchestrate
my own universe?
As I keep fighting
the urge to
disappear sometimes,
to silence these
deafening screams in my head.
As everyday, I am different,
somedays my conscience
confuses my spirit,
that this love is like a fever-
a disaster waiting to occur,
running in foggy breezes,
leaving me gasping for air.
When overthinking is a poison,
my mind fears
these crippling changes,
echoing through
our favorite songs.
So, how will I ever be able to
right every wrong,
without my savior
that saved me
from dreary dark
dawns of December?
Perhaps, this was pre-written
in untold sagas
of romance,
I am only complete,
when I am within
the coincidental
half of your gemini heart.
Here, I wait, alone tonight,
until you become mine,
so meet me in forever,
where luminous clouds
unravel perpetual
purple flickers in our sight.
“I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it..." E.E. Cummings
Another day soaked in the melody of your musical memories.
Breathless I seek, for a rosy gleam of morning glories,
cascading calming beams in tangerine tints, where~
dulcet dreams still linger over sun-kissed meadows,
engraved with clandestine seeds we’ve scattered across
fields of fireflies flaring childhood sagas woven with
glistening ink flowing in sapphire syllables, like
hypnotic hieroglyphics carved from tears left untold. Yet~
I ponder, what is heaven like, without me, by your side, do you still laugh,
joyously to the thoughts of how we swirled and twirled like
kindred spirits, lost in our own sacred spheres ricocheting with,
lyrical light, that emanated emerald euphoria..
Maybe, in the elysian castle, where you reside, angels would,
never let you forget promises we made beneath moonlit skies,
on the nights when the world too did abandon~
peacock-feathered peacefulness that we truly deserved, despite our,
quivering hearts, that beat in tune to the grief-struck stars…
Remember me, when fragrant flowers flourish in colors of~
soft mauve sunsets, we painted in butterfly brushstrokes.
Tonight, I’m listening to the waves whisper serene serenades,
unraveling sparkling tales of your seraphic realm in
violet verses, for I am still healing, alone, reminiscing,
wishing, someday, when every jewel in the horizon falls in~
xanthic streaks, like autumnal leaves, wilting to the absence of,
your loyal presence, I’ll find a canvas, to immortalize this love~
zestfully; while souvenirs of yesterday’s twilight twinkle, you remain the poem of my soul.
The ignorant ones claim,
I'm full of petty problems,
a slave to the darkness,
but if only they had seen
how I've slaughtered
malicious demonic sea creatures
that slithered along my spine,
undisturbed nor provoked.
You are the singing sunrise
to my sultry sunset,
weaving silver sonnets
from beige ballads
seducing my spirit
into sweet slumber—
igniting nocturnal
Novembers with
crimson showers
upon sepia stems,
because It's no longer
the climatic chaos I fear,
it's the calm you've crafted,
continuing to be
my constant comfort.
Your devotion adds
color and clarity in my once
monochrome existence,
as you've polished
the dimmed stars in my eyes,
they now glitter like
shimmering fireflies,
a reincarnation
of the strength
from Freyja's tears,
after you kissed them
with your silken soft sagas.
When the days begin
to dawn upon dreary dusks
you've aromatized my
universe with summer scents.
Thor's thunder could
not demolish our
kind of spring as
our celestial spirits
float around the nine realms.
A part of you will
forever rhyme as
clusters of couplets
fated to be,
the rest of you flow
like simple stanzas
of empathic free verse.
As my story will make
Odin ashamed, and
Fenrir cry, so when all
the beauty of butterflies
congest my throat,
preventing me from
pouring dreams of
stardusts upon
your selfless quill…
always remember us
for the times we swayed
and enclasped into
our own silhouette,
running from the
stormy disarray of society’s
serpentines,
swimming in Satanic
sapphire seas.
Whilst the debt I owe
for your generosity will drown
me in endless poetry,
floating on metaphors
without blueprints,
keeping the vampires
from Beelzebub's door,
releasing me from the
chains of uncertainty …forevermore.
"we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred"
When heavy clouds shroud the moon with lotus lies,
we walk through fiery flashes of illusion,
seeking blurred validation from starless skies,
whilst in uncertainty, hearts find seclusion.
Darkness unfurls crowned eagle feathers to rise,
letting ego flee through alchemist's vision,
surrender to serenity glazed with gold,
there's a sunset that slumbers in rain so cold.
Grace ebbs and flows through ripples of black and white,
listen to the sagas of echoing breeze.
In the abyss of your soul, is cosmic light,
and with faith intact, confined fears we shall freeze.
When doubts we cleanse through clear consciousness in sight,
keys to a meadow, mirroring inner trees,
Standing firm, unshakable midst storms of strife,
In zen we reap colors to the root of life.
But betwixt twisted tendrils, bud of peace weighs,
and It is from the demise of pride, zest thrives.
Transforming rusty browns to vermilion rays,
a prism of sparkling hope, through which mind survives.
Love is an essence served in jasmine arrays,
whilst with compassion embraced, contentment strives.
So let shackles of shallow shadows unchain,
behold the aura of pink roses to reign.
I was cursed with ink
intoxicating blank canvases
with toxic scribbles,
releasing twisted tales
of suppressed troubles.
I was a forsaken ebony rose
in satan's grasp,
kneeling on ungodly needs
in a gothic fortress
of woeful odes,
surrounded by black knights
and colorless blossoms,
searching for legitimate sestinas
and versatile villanelles
to ignite my quill to bleed
without semantic barriers.
Swaying like a pendulant,
on the edge between
light and darkness,
resembling midnight's
black ice queen,
I thirsted for a
universal prophecy.
A poet who would engrave
perennial verses upon my
discoloured healing heart.
To paint antique stones,
during sunless days
in a moonless kingdom.
A calligraphic catharsis,
adorning the sincere crown
of an imperial ivory king,
whose angelic voice
glitters like gems,
soothing insensitive beating drums
within my pondering pensive mind.
A majestic master of his quill,
reviving poetic intimacy,
fusing his musings
deep inside untouched chambers
with an unscratched itch,
of my undanced fandango.
F a t e has a way for
versifiers to assimilate.
From the first drop
of his couplet,
he had my tongue
rhyming to the rhythm
of his unspoken lyrics.
Now, I am a slave to
what I have become.
Handcuffed and blindfolded
by preserved petals
between perfumed pages
written from the tip of his
magical wand like fingers.
I am weaving crystal quartz
words in witching hours,
whilst he pours dulcet musings
incensed in white sage
over my rustic bronze silhouette,
as I am his willing mistress:
a submissive subservient pawn
to his silent slavery.
Throned in intricately carved
prose and poetry,
where monochrome strokes
of thin lines no longer perish.
There’s no need for a sorcerer
when his sentimental sonnets
are an addictive elixir.
I am deliriously comatose
and chained in piercingly
euphoric sagas of his saccharine soul.
Even Lilith seized the moment
to behold what belonged to her
In the name of infatuated love.
So this is me, stealing
scented seeds
sown along parallel paradigms
of his rightful Parnassian paradise,
d r o w n i n g in
metaphorical monograms,
leaving memoirs of a poetess~
seething glitters and gold
reborn from the depths of
a savior that saved
me from burnt chapters
of darkest oblivion.
I gaze beyond
the silver winged
heart of
twinkling twilight,
lost within metaphors
in warm cashmere
bows of midnight.
Whilst lava lamps
for lost souls
f l i c k e r across
a maze of melancholy,
ghosts of past whispered
surreal sagas through
subtle mists~
silky snow that
d r i z z l e s
in the shape of crescent,
slowly trails
my moon-kissed skin.
If only the stars
of scarred silence
spoke the voiceless
truth raised from
the arms of trauma~
not every glowing
ray is destined
to be your wish
come true,
I was sculptured
in hailstones
of burnt ice,
and my ivory nails
drowned in the color
of your fire blood.
I am the throned
mistress of massacres,
a walking black storm,
that strikes onyx lightning
upon pearlescent
roads to hyacinth healing.
For everything
I touched
became frost,
when heavy clouds bled
to paint the skyscape
in citrine powder.
Perhaps, there is
no need of stretching
your fingers in gratitude,
as it shall
soon abandon
every lucky charm,
like the death of poetry
within inked
pages of
an accidental poet.
Yet, I still see
the unwritten
verses in your dewy eyes~
unsung
poetic confessions,
written in
diamond and rust;
“you’re the poison
I’m willing to take”
Like how romeo
died in the name of
a forsaken tale
told by the infatuated
soul of his Juliet~
Cupid’s bow still
is adorned with her
love-struck tears
that emanate
unshed truth.
So let, the alchemy
of dreams concoct,
a perfumed potion
from black
quartz rain,
to ease this caricature
lifetime of memories~
chasing sonnets
contrived in sorcery,
to seize the stories
of
misplaced prophecies.
whilst hope is flying
on paper wings
of a dark
horse carousel,
where my past self
was crystal-gazing,
to see the crown
carved from rhinestones
of shattered glasses,
piercing through
my honey mane.
But, this immortal
heart will remain
in a museum of
Monet’s garden,
where sorrowful
serenades linger
above thornless roses.
For I am heaven
and hell for you,
in everlasting awakenings
transcribed in turquoise
topaz till tomorrow…
“Wicked Web of Woes”
Is there a reason
to rhyme when
lifeless fingers
breathe toxic agony,
whilst disgraced
quill suffocates
from wildering
riddles swerving to
the stillness
of calcified air?
As today, my heart
keeps pacing,
searching for a
symphony of serenity-
amid wayward clemency,
and when the first star
of the evening sky,
fades and shatters
upon a celestial canvas
of colorless dreams.
I feel the sweeping
wings of salvation,
resting amidst
clipped faith,
drifting swiftly towards
abandoned clarity;
exiled into
barren fields of
vast polarities,
where hope collapses
into an eternal demise,
tangled within a
wicked web
of woeful sagas,
trapped between
heavy clouds
of unshed tears,
beneath the
crisp cusp of sanity.
Yet I stand in
sweltering silence,
recollecting lost
chronicles of
who I once was,
whilst I’m drowning
in waves of
vexing numbness,
screaming into
the oblivious
spheres cloaked
in smoky
arctic haze,
questioning the
captive chains
of reality,
in dialects only
the moon
can comprehend.
Am I destined
to be caged
in sinful darkness
that the
world fed me,
with sharpened
knives at
empty tables,
with faceless
ghosts of yesterday?
Perhaps there’s
still a poem
that can unlock
the mystery
to a future that
thrives with
fruitful orchards,
where rain that
tastes succulent
wouldn’t burn
your flesh,
for even the
milky-ways would
unravel a realm where
everything should
be as it seems.
Vanquishing the
strings that bind—
daring me to breathe.
Ink Empress
Fading Star Silence
His poems live deep down in the wood
down in an olde hunting lodge
They are brown as the bears head that
hangs on the wall
brown as the dark leaves that fall
silently hiding the salt lick
from fawns who come in
the twilight to call
His poetry growls and grumbles and purrs
like a cougar alone on the rim
of the canyon above the olde
hunting grounds
where he writes all his lines
like a hymn
His poems stretch out on the furs
by the fire
and tell of the storms and the waves
that tested the strength of the words
that inspire
and sent many songs to their graves
for brave are the sagas
the odes that survive
the trek through the woods to the town
and as we go home we gather them up
scattered like leaves on the ground.
Brown,yellow,red ,a few of them green
His poems are places and things we have seen
but not from the view that the truth hunter gives
deep down in the woods ,where poetry lives
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
I think I made you up inside my head.
-Sylvia Plath
I see no reason to rhyme,
but an aching heart,
stranded in the midst of nothingness,
as quill rests in a nameless
coffin, like a trembling corpse.
Words woven in tears
glisten like rain,
amidst rustic pages
within a book of bleeding ink.
While
I, the deep darkness,
ponder, would the moon
ever grieve for the sun,
or will she allow waning
stars to abandon
her doleful realm?
As her face
shifts and turns through
phases of changes-
and her soul like
the weary winter,
withers into white-washed wounds.
I am the hazy mirror to
a lunar goddess.
There shadows betrayed
this cruel conscience,
roaming within forlorn vales,
swirling through a woeful wind,
to nocturnal sonatas.
My mind nestles like
a raven resting
at the treetop,
calling your name into
frozen oblivion,
laced in secluded silence,
echoing amidst obsidian fears.
What would they know
of tainted tales,
obscured within the
mellifluous sound of splitting rain?
I am throned to a fallen sky,
drizzling thorns and splinters
upon bruised toes.
Remember, I love you,
through dreams and more,
stretching my fingers
to your silvery spheres.
Now your palette of romance
paints a blurred portrait
of hallowed misery;
dreams forgotten with time.
There’s no perfect
pigment to correct
my insomniac frame
but metaphors to lure me
back to a colorless
castle above satanic seas.
I’m dancing with demons;
as the pain you’ve fed me,
rushes through chained chambers.
Tonight, the storms may seem calm,
like forests awaiting for a trail
of redolent rainbows,
to flicker upon mourning meadows.
Tomorrow, when I slumber
six feet beneath breathing fiction,
will you rewrite cruel convictions,
that stole my purpose to live?
Maybe darkness sparkles upon
rich rivulets of rippling regrets,
so the cosmos would allow the moon
to rise and beam brighter than
the selfish sun.
Let this poem be the last
amulet to sorrowful sagas,
as I untangle your vines
suffocating my final breath,
this is the eternal demise—
I’m dying before your dead eyes.
"I have been a stranger in a strange land." Bible, Exodus 2:22
I have been a stranger
I have been in a strange land
Land of forsaken frangipanis
Land of black diamonds
Diamonds never decay
Diamonds forever sparkle
Sparkle like neon fireflies
Sparkle amidst darkness
Darkness depicting light
Darkness illuminating skies
Skies sketched in topaz tints
Skies mirroring my spirit
Spirit of a forlorn wanderer
Spirit of a firm believer
Believer veiled unseen
Believer sings hymns unheard
Unheard sagas of truth
Unheard tunes of time
Time twirls through confusion
Time enveloped in silence
Silence is a fragrant dialect
Silence is misunderstood
Misunderstood yet deafening
Misunderstood monologues
Monologues of the strawberry moon
Monologues of sunflower scriptures
Scriptures of sacred seasons
Scriptures lost in deserted dunes
Dunes of healing heartbeats
Dunes of forgotten dreams
Dreams of a midnight Jasmine
Dreams of a faded star
Star that guides the raven dusk
Star that flickers pink gold
Gold is the color of faith
Gold ribboned with hope
Hope is an emerald home
Hope is a thriving tulip
Tulip personifies awakening
Tulip honeyed in harmony
Harmony from serenades of serenity
Harmony of singing sunrise
Sunrise painted in poetry
Sunrise and rainbows
Rainbows with quartz runes
Rainbows of colored revelations
Revelations unnamed
Revelations untold
Untold…
Unnamed…
He is silence,
crowned in rosy rhymes,
sprinkling balmy rain
upon frail flowers.
misunderstood, yet
beneath his armor,
is the selfless moon,
bestowing starlight.
when darkness unfolds,
time may be cruel,
but seasons can't wilt
soft-spoken sagas,
echoing amidst
hushed sanctuaries.
he shoulders the weight
of a true savior.
suppressing his need
to be heard and seen,
in a world so dark
and misleading,
he remains throned to
an emerald
garden, that glows
as the king of
picturesque patience.
painting the wrongs right
through butterfly strokes,
of everlasting
acrylics, in gold
across mourning skies.
our beloved brother from India
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold
board his magic carpet
woven with wit, intellect and insight
soar through sagas steeped in mythology
captivating revelations on cultural tradition
unique perspectives on historical events
clever concepts conveyed with humor
psychology, philosophy, behavior observations
materialize as “Mehtaisms”
stirring the soup
adding spice to the broth
supporting work of members new and old
our international melting pot
enriched by the work of a Literary Doctor
salute a special sage who graces us with gifts
Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold
* Dedicated to Dr. Ram Mehta in honor of Joe Maverick’s “Better than Gold” contest
Listen to the
ticking hands of twilight,
close your eyes,
while I take your thoughts
to an ivory reverie of
flickering fantasies…
there I’m cruising
above an
island of mystery
in a flying
glass catamaran~
glazed in
fairy sparkles.
Watching the
shimmering sea
swallow flaming rays
of the sinking sunset,
I slowly dive
deep
into the
lungs of
lyrical lagoon
to surf along
saffron waves,
against
twinkling tides,
while the
seraphic soul
of an emerald
oyster crest
unravels a
sparkling carnival
of summery parade.
I am magnetically
captivated,
chasing a school of
dancing dolphins,
with every spin,
they reflect hypnotic
songs of the ocean~
a ballet of butterfly-rays,
swirl to symphonies
echoing from the
marine kingdom,
there sharks
and turtles together
croon secrets lost within
the aquatic
jungle of life.
When the
spirits that carry
sunken sagas of
coral reefs rise,
a mystical goddess
emerges beyond
the wide horizon,
where the moon is
meant to glow
and unfurl silvery
chronicles of
crystal clear memories.
She is dressed
in glistening algae,
her scales mirror
a musical melancholy;
tales untold and unseen
in the eyes
of flawed creatures.
Her beauty is beyond any
ballads woven from
salt soaked diamonds.
I question her in awe;
“What flows
beneath violet ripples,
ruffling with starry souvenirs?
Do you hear
midnight serenades
of coastal birds,
when neon gems
light up the sea of fire?”
In silence, she whispered
into the drifting wind,
“I am the sovereign of
seafarers and day dreamers,
I guide the lost to
a sanctuary of serenity”
Her words
kept circling in
ringing refrain,
and I let
my thoughts float,
in the
watery credence
of her cryptic tunes,
as she
vanished
into nothingness,
leaving a fragrant tint across
the celestial
canvas of the sky.
Now the mermaid moon
draws a halo
in fluorescent
colors of her
rainbow tail fin,
splattering a trail of letters,
moving in
zig
zag across
the azure,
knitted in lucky charms~
while initials of this tale
ignites the universe
like
waterfall chandeliers.
her untamable sakura spirit
glows like sweet scents
of petrichor peace,
perfumed in jasmine water,
whilst there’s no path
to golden rays of sunlight,
she shines for the elite vines
trailing through silver
gates of heaven.
and when the sky is a sea
of lilac lanterns,
and mauve mists,
shifting amidst
raining rhinestones
etched with mood-swings,
she remembers~
God as the choreographer
the mindful maestro,
tranquilizing trees tangled
with roots of torment.
but chocolate cosmos
remain blindfolded
by pearly lilies,
as the salmon-hued
bird of paradise
blossoms from
neglected lines
of caramelized skin,
she still sprouts in solitude,
delicate but
powerfully growing
from sepia roots
of grief and regrets,
lessons learned
through wisteria wisdom
earned from
turmeric truth,
and holistic hymns of the
almighty that echo
in captivating cadence~
as spiritual songs
of sepals flourish
amidst withering petals,
there her frost-bitten
soul found a healing field
in a poetic reverie,
where lyrical lines
float above mulberry meadows,
sowing hyacinth herbs of kindness~
painting petunias in patience,
silently sprinkling
enticing anemones
as an inevitable sign
of eternal hope to freedom.
A poetic earth that shall remain
untouched amidst the cruel wind
that blow it’s way through,
while lakes of longing
emanate soulful sagas,
synchronized from strings
of moon-kissed stars,
unfurling light when darkness
dwell upon dreary hearts.
Mother-nature, compassionate
spirit,
I hear her plea for
empathetic emeralds,
engrossed with
righteous rubies,
from topaz tenderness.
here, in singing silence,
I stretch my heart to
seraphic spheres,
for she lies in solitary stillness.
Let the beating hearts
of walking silhouettes
manifest silken fate for her
divine aura.
Rivers may no longer flow,
and flowers may
no longer be fragrant,
but faith shall
never be perished,
and the wildest forests
of her heart shall forever
flare evergreen
dreams of tomorrow.
As crystal glacier, suspended in the onyx air,
bleeds darkness kissed with saline sadness,
clouds tiptoe through trapped phantom winds,
dripping sinister creatures rising from the
egoistic eyes ~ cracked illusions reflecting the underbelly of
fragrant fountains ~ an inverted resemblance of
grotesque monsters lurking in seething spaces,
heinous jaws of the ill-omened ocean, where mermaid madness
is born from the womb of sun-deprived urchins,
jaded and jinxed ~ caging the paranoid demons in a
kaleidoscopic kingdom of paper delirium, spiraling with malicious
laughter ~ an echo of lucid lies and watercolor sin…
Maybe if I kneel on the golden altar of
nocturnal petals, lifting my hands, silencing
oblivious mantras of mania and unheard cries~
place a prayer, adrift in a cursed conch shell,
quivering and sighing sagas to the feathered horizon,
rippling with hope across the vast blue of brokenness,
seeking solace in the footfalls of northern lights~
then might the stars compose a tune, no longer fixated
upon chasing infernal wild roses stirring within
vermilion verses of a psyche haunted by splitting realities~ O twilight wanderers...
Walk with me through the shadows of the valley where
xanthic leaflets gather light to the summons of ravens,
yearning to brush the skyline; where the heart knows no fear of evil, and
Zen, etched in calligraphy, spans the sands of death and hereafter…