Still
Still lives a dream, only one, but it is everything
A soul still waiting for the only one, just for you
A heart still beating for the hoped-burning desire
Still, want something somebody. This is buried, love
One of them is a swindler, other is an impostor
Still, they haven’t found each other yet. Friends
Friends from far away. Everything is broken. Shards
Graceful Swan is a stony-hearted magnetic gazelle
The victim is a credulous guy, not an impostor
He is still waiting for the false love. Believed for true
Life is a fraud. Or maybe dreaming makes for blind
Still, a heart sighs rhythmically, A dream still lives
hope …
dismay
heaven, hell
gods, mortality … love
all live within us
we create our own realities
and we dwell there …
oh, we are taught the tools for life -
the skills we use to SHAPE that actuality,
but we construct it to the
dimensions and perspectives we
find most acceptable -
most apposite to our path,
and build walls around it as necessary …
I …
(despite contrary inclinations)
have allowed a choice few
to breach that moat -
a trestle, ladder, kiss,
warm promise in my ear -
only to find poison on their lips
mirrors in their gaze
and a rusted edge called ‘goodbye’
with which to cleave my
endlessly credulous …
nature.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, May 11, 2024
At this very moment coolies screamed, ‘train',
We scampered packing up our bags and bales,
A long-awaited train’s a certain bane,
But this one turned a boon, such were the tales,
An English gentleman hailed our hero
From his carriage and we parted to go
Our diverse ways—to our cattle-class seat,
There was no chance to know who that man was,
Nor yet more light on his tale could be lit,
Indeed, never-ending may prove some pause.
Some truths, some lies of life lie ever so,
Maybe, he took us as credulous fools,
A painful nerve and anxious seldom cools,
Some truths and lies born are never to know,
Perchance the man minted fun at our cost,
And damsels in distress lay buried, lost.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Everything said, everything thought and done
is stored in the subconsciousness of a memorable tune;
a whole life was spent in search of gratification,
of that sweetheart to convert this restless dreamer
to love, to show his amorous and changeless affection
in ways that eloquently expressed the exquisite art of lover!
Does love surpass all miracles doubtingly conceived
in the credulous mind, expecting thrills and kisses
in form of heavenly bliss, or a fulfillment of greed?
The wisher of resonant allusions was entirely convinced
to succeed with his cunning by offering petty gifts
to entrap the feeblest heart used to sweet whispers!
Who loves the drama of a tragic end in any somber narrative?
Of course, the joker with a hilarious and derisive laughter!
Does he care that what he says is no offense to provoke anger
in the jeering crowd that mocks him for being insensitive?
My honor was fairly, amply given and adamantly received,
I have left no murmuring lips in suspense; dear Heaven: my honesty
wasn't derided but perceived well and sealed in their endeared memory!
Precious inamorata, love surpasses all miracles as mine did!
In the footsteps pacing the penultimate mile of mist,
at the edge of fading furlong of future walkway obscure,
in the twilight hour the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn extant being silhouetted still
against the scarlet skyline of immanent transience,
witnessing the final flicker of the dying day.
The twirling threads of turmoil entwined
with the cleaved clouds blazing in lightning gale,
crumbling the credulous horizon halcyon once.
The chameleon transformation gets transcribed
on the convoluted canvas burning in the last corner,
from the surreal chromatic flare the ashes fly away.
The shards of the splintered sky in the swirling storm,
roll on the weary waves of the curled conviction cloud.
The remnant rays of sanguinity survive still
in the flamboyant flashes of the sinking sun,
fabricate the latent lattice of the dormant dreams
in the consumed life’s kaleidoscopic last show.
“... betrayal begins with trust.” ~ Phish
Nothing is more hurtful than betrayal--
The traits of Cain, Delilah, Judas, Brutus;
In their darkest hours they all led astray
those they vowed to be loyal to and protect,
spawning events that were calamitous.
Trust—
It appears, there’s none anymore
Not here, not now and never ever was;
It’s an ancient fable, a myth
long tucked away in books
in sermons and scriptures
in mythology and fairytales,
Not a treasure rare and precious,
but a mere figment of our imagination;
Trust is a portal through which
a man can manipulates, lies and betrays,
A chimera of the fantasy world
like a mirage to the desert dwellers
a floating straw to a drowning man
a flickering light at the end of
a tunnel to a desperate soul.
Trust but thyself
and to thyself be true,
Yet indulge not in thine own conceit,
Mistrust no man without just cause
Nor be credulous without proof,
Stay neither far from reason
nor close to folly…
Trust is hard to find,
But when found, don’t let go!
~05/24/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge 'B' quote
~Sponsor: constance La France
I am weary of reading and listening to people
using their pen to cripple. Bringing pain and suffering to others.
I ask, what are their goal; to scare their brothers and sisters?
Is it to catch a spark and lit the fire?
Contain the fire, flammable words are dangerous.
Pretending to be pure an innocent, but a viper they are,
behind mask they hide. In the absence of those
to defend themselves, they sneer and chide.
Those that listen to them, they're credulous favor to listen,
to their deliberately giving false statements,
they instead of being careful,
to insist of reading sound validation.
No elixir or spell can cure the damage they've done
only depends on first loving themselves.
Judgmental People and Haters Back Off.
Stop and surrender your brawling.
Those that listen say, "Nay!"
Back off!
No more!
Stay away!
10/28/2020
Judged By A Jury Of Your Peers Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Koplin
Twenty six today, I saw
the luminous silver moon
make it's way through
the familiar sky that
bends above my head.
Each day I grew enthusiastic
and more credulous about
what lies ahead;
Waiting and hoping to remain
content with the one wish
granted.
And thereupon, a shooting star
In it's enthralling spectacle
A fallen seraphim with
broken wings crowding
my innocence upon
that fading star
Making a wish
To blow it away
into smouldering incense
of a new age.
Tho' woe begone I am found too deep,
my silent suffering has a credulous will
unwilling acceptance, it strives to keep
persistence edging towards that landfill.
Resentment of those the pain it carries,
such viciousness to move a past master
to exude fall and pain my twain it varies,
in all matters, relating to each disaster.
The difference is unhurried melancholy,
it has blatantly given us smaller mercies
which often force us into choosing folly
to instigate the mind our outrage curses.
It leaves one as this indigenous species,
insurgence swore astutely, with a blithe
disgruntled sorrow as the will decreases,
bearing down, too wrought to be alive.
Yet grief defines how hoary overawed,
upon this discovery without it resolute
not far from keeping, my having stalled
much sleeping in this state of ill-repute.
An advent of adventure
signs soon steal away
in moonlit eyes of jade
unclothed, tongues bathed
with wounds licks
determined
and
credulous
legs, smooth,
stems of silk
swaying
the scent of sex
seduction of the night
the day
the night
the day
don't ever run away
don't ever run away
from a welcomed hand
uncircumnavigated
blue sky receptions
in a newborn port of call
I heed your call
I heed your call
How pitiful of me
To carry your heart
In my own
When I know it beats
A somber tone
How credulous of you
To speak to heavens
So lovingly about us
Urging for my return
As footsteps we heard
Walked past each other
And not a hint of love
Exchanged a look
Perhaps it's best
How clueless we are--
Unprepared to mend
Two broken hearts
December 19, 2018
Placed first in contest #530 by Brian Strand
Pretending to be the pure an innocent,
a viper the mask hides.
In the absence of those to defending themselves,
the more vigorously it swears.
Those that show too credulous favor to listen,
instead of being careful, to insist on sound validation.
No elixir or spell can cure,
only truly depends on first loving themselves.
7/19/2017
I thought I’d be happy, once I was rich
I thought I’d have the world by the tail
But now I see I’m still down in the ditch
I have to get out if my boat’s going to sail
I hoped to be wiser by taking some advice
I figured others knew more than I knew
It resulted in paying a much higher price
But like I was told, few know more than I do
I’ve always been credulous as bloody hell
Believing even the most outrageous tale
Like the one about the diamond in a shell
I have to get out if my boat’s going to sail
His love indescribable
His presence overwhelming
A child longing to meet its father
Its cry so unbearable
Mangling to the heart; melancholy
A bondage unbreakable
Apart from being crestfallen by the cruel world,
the child croons to its father to hear its cries,
to save it from the cruel world and its temptations.
World has taught its people to misconstrue everything
World which continues to create cross-patched people,
so acrid and easily credulous
Affectation people
desperate to receive miracles, wealth, see signs and wonders;
trapped in our own world, self-centered.
Credulous people we become
easily deluded by the cunning.
Set apart we must become
like servants awaiting their master,
like new born babies opening their eyes for the first time
like the shepherd's sheep
like masterpieces of the master
I often think of the game of life
And just how wicked it all can be
We know that it’s often rife with strife
And often so much strife to see
There are many ways to play the game
And many different ways to be a winner
I’ve seen a man cheat to obtain fame
And one destroyed by this evil sinner
By a magic man practicing a flim-flam
A trusting man is sure to be taken
A credulous soul unaware of the scam
Will unknowingly be mistaken
So when it comes to making money quick
Or getting to the top with ease
Don’t rely on the short cut gimmick
Be on the up and up. Will you? Please?
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