Best Searching Poems
As I made my way through the shadowy forest of doubt,
I had the most unusual dreamlike thoughts.
I stared trancelike when a herd of unicorns approached,
led by a surreal Mad Hatter seeking Alice.
In the hazy early morning light on a trail we’d traveled often,
I paused to blink, knowing the visions were ethereal.
Unicorns? Please, this herd looked like something from a fairytale,
and I wondered if they could be anything but imaginary.
Then a familiar voice I heard. It was yours, my love.
You reminded me to enjoy the moment, not to think so hard.
Real or unreal, it was a vision brewed by an active imagination,
one that will not rest until I find my way back to you.
*May 24, 2021
For Constance La France’s “Dreamlike” Contest
I walk upon a green feathered hilltop
to find your soul, that I lost long ago
and lay flowers where your grave says stop
sit in the silence till' the sun is low
I'll bow my head and feel the loneliness
while trembling hands cradle tears that fall
I feel the sadness of my emptiness
while listening for the unanswered call
there is no time that my pain's loss can quell
no answer to quiet the question why
as life moves on and there is only hell
searching for you, I'm lost, my eyes still cry
I'll claim no noble dignity or deed
find nothing alone on this hill, but need
10/25/14
How populated this lonely world often feels
with so much warm flesh living cold and stony.
Some days, we ache for someone to hold us,
smile into our eyes like they wholly know us.
As humans, we talk and talk our searching words
though others grasp only their perceptions heard
and live unaware that their walls thus occurred.
Hearts all desire an embraced soul revealing
of where’s and why’s behind the how’s they’re feeling.
Such tries manifest puffed effects, sky floating
on breezes society contaminates with
numbing subliminal fears to which we succumb.
All emphasized in society’s vise pounds
false perceptions that comfort some lives,
allowing them to safely hide in boxed alibis
where their dreamy feelings lay to perhaps die.
Deep is our need to be known and understood
as a person of unique meaning and worth.
Seems to me, hearts may be seeking in blurred rote
for meanings rarely clear after emotions smoke.
My soul seems to be hidden today.
Where can it conceal itself?
I thought it was always with me,
Roaming the endless paths
That clatter the corridors of my mind,
coursing through my arteries and veins,
invading all essential organs
that keeps me alive all day.
Maybe it flew away
Like some mad eagle that lost its way!
I will not search for it.
It will return when it feels
There is a need for it.
My feet follow tracks unknown
Oblivious of time and space.
I meet old friends and strangers,
I pass on,
I do not recognise their mien.
I thread through paths lined
With rampant dark green ferns,
I slush through shallow muddy pools,
I rest below the copious hedgerows.
Down in the valley cows are milked,
Geese cackle and cocks crow,
Cats copulate in peace.
Fragrance of new-cut hay
Makes my nostrils flare.
Smoke billows from the chimney
Of an old cottage near the farm.
Should I invite myself,
Betake a country hearty meal?
I am welcome
Urged to taste the home-brewed beer
Or the new fermented cheese.
I feel a kind of peace.
Perhaps my soul is back
Or perhaps it's the beer or the cheese.
Who can say?
"All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
And I intend to end up there." Rumi
In search of my beloved,
my supernova soul was born,
floating among gardens of glistening galaxies,
adoring heavenly hues of sapphire,
amethyst and emerald constellations,
where efflorescence butterflies,
fluttered among elysian scents.
Yet I still yearned for her forbidden fragrance.
Cultivating the art of transcendental romance,
euphoric emotions wrote an amaranthine aubade,
hoping the universe would hear my call,
as my love is a timeless lunar lullaby,
lingering like a flute echoing moonstone melodies,
where passion travels with each
nocturnal note composing a cosmic chorus,
ordained from an orchestra of galactic halos.
At twilight, in a playground of primrose promises,
millions of pulsar pearls appeared.
Silent and still, sentimental stars shimmering,
listening to the desires of my heart,
but at dawn they were always forgotten.
In my hallucination of loneliness,
fatigued from evanescent entities,
I awaited to hear her halcyon harmony,
until echoes vibrated from the moon,
so I became a slave to moonlight -
but it too, abandoned me at daylight.
Must I forever be the victim of selfish sunrise?
Upon the elegance of an ethereal eternal eclipse.
the last star wept sacred stardust on autumn leaves,
which glowed as they withered from scarlet to saffron.
In Nebula's November cull of death,
I fell like a comet in a meteor shower,
betrayed, falling into a quasar black hole -
lost forever.
Without interstellar lyrics,
I no longer illuminate,
maybe some light is too bright.
But, I know there is a rustic rose,
blossoming upon vintage shores,
so, every night I look up to the sky,
wondering where you are?
In these realms, within which I roam,
I watch each star suffocate
from the suppression of affection.
Seems no spectral spirit is selfless enough
to ignite this symphony of silence.
Maybe I was born a cosmic Casanova.
Maybe I'm just an intergalactic Romeo.
I walk deeper and deeper into my own mind, looking for something while completely blind.
Nights embrace only makes me travel deeper, with the road only getting steeper.
Not knowing who I am or what I need, I will continue my 1 man stampede.
Searching for myself has become my addiction, staring at my hollow reflection is my confliction.
I resort to pouring my heart out in the form of text, pondering upon what sign will start my next quest.
The quest to finally know why im here,
The path im headed down is so unclear.
Casting the veil over my face by day, and removing it in the comfort of night, I will continue soul searching, until my purpose is in sight.
-Downed Jester
My existence is a poem I've never finished,
as I've always been unsure what form it should take.
In a labyrinth of lyrics, words are like whores,
unfaithful and easily bought in a virtual marketplace,
so I wonder if it's better to leave them unwritten -
but an unprecedented urge to scribble overcomes me.
My muse is not amused with prose.
Love for rhymes and syllables abandons me.
Yet, I know one day I will produce my best poem.
I remember when I was invisible,
silence was so surreal, until my pen began to shout.
If only love was like our words.
I never asked to be loved,
I always thought it was a natural emotion,
but when you are seen as a foreign seed,
you feel you do not belong.
Fate is like Judas,
that comes with a price,
leaving you confused with the mind like Russian Roulette,
wondering which verses should be sacrificed,
before the final 'bang' takes your life.
We search for normal in an ordinary world,
where such definitions are a matter of perception.
Childhood becomes an enigma when you are guideless,
so you search for faith, but end up faithless.
When your world is burning,
rage becomes your most loyal companion -
releasing trauma through misunderstood screams.
I was born lost in a place I did not belong,
a different breed from a foreign seed.
I've been finding myself since the day I took my first breath,
a bird born too early with ruptured wings,
unable to fly, struggling to breathe,
before I could write or sing,
the universe engraved an anthology of adversity,
an impromptu narrative turning me into an accidental poet -
with an unlabelled identity.
I've walked amongst devils and angels,
been betrayed by their wicked schemes.
Yet, I never cry for yesterday,
I am not a manifestation of my suffering.
There are so many ghosts, I could not heal,
I know their silhouettes will forever haunt,
but I continue to count my blessings,
as I've grown invisible wings,
spreading in the form of free verse.
Their feathers have become my quill,
where my ink soars like an eagle,
because I'm not afraid of approaching storms.
The story of my life will eventually be forgotten,
but maybe my poems will live forever.
Silent One
11 March 2022
I hear a voice call out to me
through whispers in the wind at night.
It haunts my soul and sends a plea
for love to shine its brilliant light.
Within my dreams my spirit seeks
to find the source of this request.
To share the love of which it speaks
has now become my fervent quest.
I travel past the demons' lair
that held me captive for so long.
I quicken pace lest they snare
entrapping me within their throng.
I journey down the winding road
still following my lover's cry,
but as I see the fork I've slowed
now wondering which path to try.
If I choose wrong, the voice will fade
and my last chance for real love dies.
I listen for the serenade,
within her words she might advise.
She sings a song with a western tone
and now it's clear which route to take.
The west is where the light has shone,
the truer path, there's no mistake.
As further down the road I go
my destination lies in sight.
I hear the music's volume grow,
my heart's now dancing in delight.
Upon her beautiful face I look
as her arms envelop me.
I'm thankful for the road I took
for on that path I found the key.
It opened up sweet passion's door
where two lost spirits join as one.
Composing a true lover's score
this duet’s journey's just begun.
I love to wander
amongst meadows and fields,
the sky's like blue satin
the lake's like a sheet.
The air's pleasantly cool,
as birds chirp and glide
and crickets, as is their wont
invent an orchestral chant.
There in a bower
two young lovers meet,
their arms are entwined
in a sweet embrace,
and quickly the sweethearts
with a lingering amorous kiss
seal their secret loving retreat.
Bells suddenly summon
a flock of white sheep,
I dare not count them
Afraid I'd go to sleep.
The spring is still gushing,
thin reeds in abundance
on the uneven edge.
Serenity surrounds me
All's beauty and grace
For Lord, you are everywhere
Giving us hope and care.
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
I have no or non-existent
Said bin existence of 'I'
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
"I'm in where the 'I'
OU lost the 'I'
Was lost or not 'I'
I had a dream or a toy 'I'
Key moves the bin and
Adapts to the way your boss
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
Its meant to be
I did not yet know
Their survival
I still did not recognize
Who wanted a warm
Still have not found
The search of his existence
Today again I do cry
I'm looking for myself
Who am 'I'
"I am the 'I' or
Just say the name of the 'I'
I told him we were broken, the way
horses can be, and he galloped through
the sentence like a cowboy, less a
heart. I loosed the biggest word I could
think of – so enormous I felt everything
in me squeeze back as it passed by
and nearly choked as it pushed
its way into the outer world -
and he brushed it aside like
errant dandelion snow.
By then, there were at least
four voices within me, ranting,
and the image of myself throwing
buckets of paint against a wall
was blinking repeatedly in my head.
And still he was talking –
with his hands gesturing, gesturing -
talking about places he’d been
talking about what he thinks himself
passionate about
talking about what he learned
in counseling
and talking
talking,
talking
about
nothing.
When he got to Italy, I stopped him
at Michelangelo, thinking, “here! –
here finally is a scaffold we can
throw ourselves off of”. Thinking
if Einstein’s wardrobe wasn’t enough,
if a scrawny white boy singing
the blues wasn’t either and if the
most interesting thing I said that night
was that I never ever set a clock
to an uneven time (and I hadn’t even
said that yet)… maybe the image of
an artist suspended in air with
his heart pointed to heaven
and the myriad of thoughts
that must have run
like a river through him as he
stood there, arm outstretched,
might trigger something.
But, he had no idea that
Buonarroti was a poet
or that he honestly expected
Moses to speak
to him once freed
from the confines
of stone and of
artist himself,
he said
nothing.
Apparently, he was more
Moses than Michelangelo, and
it was all I could do
not to take
a hammer
to his
knee.
We have strained the edges of the universe,
you and I together, seeking, searching
on cosmic trails for justice love and fear,
I loved thee then, as I love thee now, forever.
If I were but to die, it would be no great loss,
except for the loss of the sight of you.
Lost in eternity forever. Ever abandoned!
Blinded forever to vision, sound and touch.
The essence of your smile, the treasure of your love
the beauty of your thought unsatisfied in me.
In a crowded room with you, I am filled with only you
absorbed in assimilating the wonder of you.
We live so briefly, chained to our earthly mortality;
our human love brittle, ductile, fragile.
This fleeting existence complicated with
bitterness, evil, anger, fear.
Mortality in the cosmic galaxy of immortality,
a grain of sand on the threshold of time.
Billions of souls struggling to live, breathe, survive,
inconceivable abducted from the dust of ancient galaxies.
Transitioning through ageless boundaries of infinity,
an infinitesimal spirit hurtling across ever expanding light years,
at meteoric velocity, captive only to gravitational sensitivities
ever vanishing, ardent in abandonment.
Lost in eternity. Ever abandoned.
Seeking! Searching!
Spell bound in the eternal spell binder.
Seeking! Searching!
Music, art of sound, pitch, rhythm
Meditation, art of disciplining mind, body in tandem
Music harmonises senses, eases tensed up muscles
Meditation calms mind freeing it from weed of entangles
Music, the way is from ears to senses through mind
Meditation, the way is from body to no-body, from mind to no-mind
Music is instrumental in mind and body harmonising
Meditation is dropping mind and body for soul searching
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By Hitendra Mehta
April 2011
For Members Contest - Music & Meditation by Dr Ram Mehta
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ahead of us lies the unknown
The flatline horizon betrays
The beating heart of the ocean
Each beat causing a swell
Each swell causing us to sway
Out in the open, enclosed in the womb
Umbilically linked to our mother
Daily we reminisce of the island we left behind
The families that will live without us
The paths we will never walk again
We try to keep our thoughts on new paths
On stepping in the footprints of our ancestors
But darkness falls and fear reigns over us
Shrouding hope in a veil of obscurity
Will we fall into non-existence
Will we wish our existence to end
Damnable transient emotions
Ever dispelling our confidence
In the gloom hangs a twinkle of hope
Our hearts mirrored by the sky
Opening and showing us the way
A timeless voyage into our island universe
SOUL SEARCHING
Closing my eyes
shaking my head
tears reluctantly flow,
My Soul weeps
behind closed shutters
dumbfounded
Seeking solace,
peace, understanding,
mercy.
The shutters
must be opened
as blindness
heals naught
“My eyes -
the windows
of my soul” **
So do we walk,
eyes open
into life
searching
the open windows
of weeping souls.
**”The eyes are the window to your soul” - Shakespeare
5/12/2016
“Is your soul conscious at this time?”
submitted to – Soul Consciousness – poetry contest
sponsor – Catie Lindsey