Old debris still stands alone on the shore,
shivering on the sand motionless,
the roar of the waves lifts it,
its mouth open without a message.
The night wind touches it with its hand,
bringing out stains on it,
while calling out the signal of death,
in the dunes everything comes to an end.
The feathers of shot seagulls are still neatly stored,
bottles still roll silently over their bodies,
fish are found beginning to swell,
waiting their turn to disappear.
Hour after hour,
day after day,
the muddy ground slides away,
the stunted trees slumber under the seduction of sinful hands.
The heart of the intelligent being still acts like a factory chimney,
whose right it is to gaze upon all creation,
even he himself does not know,
the hustle and bustle of his footsteps is but an emptiness.
Atambua-NTT, Indonesia, December 2, 2025
“The fervent garden grieves as the frail flowers called love
enwrap the shards of broken heart” – Quote by poet
The rhapsody of rainbow morphs into morose mélange,
bleeding colors bleached from the twilight zone clouds
that rainstorm daubs as blemish on dilapidated essence
when the shades of grey paint the frayed linen of love.
The requiem of roses resonates in melancholic medley,
the petals pine for dripping tear drops of mourning dew,
desiccating in somber sunshine in the deserted mind,
while the fallen flowers make frail bouquet of passion.
Cacophony encapsulated in the cauldron of mute melody,
chaotic symphony dismantles on the discord waves of desire.
Strained smiles sneer the scarred scenario of the senile life,
music turns to convoluted noise echoed by the battered soul.
As you drift away blowing a devastating storm of apathy,
my fervor is fragmented to lie in the debris of ecstasy.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens
magnifies into the crooked contortion of decrepit heart.
Echoes of the Silent Shore
Garbage, raw sewage, needles,
syringes, food wrappers.
Plastic, cans, bottles, trash,
oily sand, old fishing line.
I stand on the shore and I see
waste and destruction everywhere.
If nothing is done, the only sound
will be the waves crashing into a
silent shore.
despair
dusts hearts dreary
draped in stark pain debris
that angst next dresses more hopeless
depressed
uncountable things
??
near earth space, human-made
Trash, garbage, waste, refuse, flotsam, debris…
So many terms for what we agree
is unneeded, unwanted, eminently disposable
From a putrid seed humans hail
~ magnificently growable
As I gaze upon the splendor of the beach:
yellow, soft and resplendent and compliant.
I realize that it is a debris field of bones.
Of shattered shells devoid of sound-of-sea-echoes.
Of bit of crabs, seaweeds and bones of fishes ground to dust,
all gathered into an amorphous tell-tale pile.
It's congealed when wet, soft and flowing when dry.
This boneyard of bone, shell grit and bony bits,
is caressed by the wind, currents and waves into dunes, banks, bars and drifts
that are constantly played and reworked.
It is this boneyard beach which provides the perfect
barrier and margin along the shore absorbing
the thrust of storms, winds and waves
protecting it from erosion.
Like the bones in a cemetery, or a calavera
the debris field on a beach
protects and sustains the living form
with the heritage remains of the past,
remembered and put to good use.
Protected from contacts and content as well
You lost interest in me completely
To my “why?” you sent silence, so its nothing to tell
I was buried alive rather neatly
You probably question yourself how on earth
We came across, two lonely souls
But how could you know that its nothing I worth
And I couldn’t foresee the blocked calls
I was trying to help, and I tried not to bore
But it looks I was little too much
It went till you couldn’t explain what’s it for
And why you should be in close touch
But there was an amount of bright moments, I know
I can vividly see some of them
They are saved in the memory garden I grow
I take care about every stem
And the wonderful letters we wrote, I remember
Yours were giving me chills, oh my love
Overwhelmed with our nights in the sweetest surrender
Weren’t we taken away high above?
I firmly believe that you have your own reason
But our letters, forsaken in archives debris
Will they disappear, like leaves that go withered?
You pack those to bin under your apple tree.
Tsunami
Clinging to a tree my might is numb
Teeth chattering, soaked in seaweed I succumb
to the shores of doom, the tides violent surge
Adrift and marooned all owed to a sudden urge
After the party I woke up on a tropical island
Wild rainforest and coconut groves, tailor made in Thailand
The Turtle Island, underwaters heaven
We were seven, gone snorkeling the night before
None of which were ones who washed ashore
I heard scrambling voices from below
less those who didn’t survive the deathblow
Lungs spewing up ocean water, not the timeless turquoise,
but the stormy muddled wash, murky, writhing wildly
sirening a crushing noise
Twigs, glass, and storms debris rips through skin
Blood seeps down red rivers running thin
soaked thoroughly, bringing shivers
As tidal waves and ruthless rain cease their wells,
instinctively the islanders help each other through
the fallen landscapes
As the beached turtles struggle in their shells,
who once glided effortlessly in the sea
I know what I must do
Keep with the spirit of aloha
and stay until the sky becomes blue
Then set the turtles free
in winter of congealed land
the poignant stream froze
in the desolate valley of chilled flowers
unseen in the hills of blues
the spring of revived longing
melted glacier of innate hearty content
in lacustrine luster of sapphire embrace
where the blocks of essence ice
perched on actuality stones of yearned shore
formed the obelisk icon
the eternal connection
between the heavenly sky
and endless life force
sweeping ocean floors
deleterious debris ~
sea monkeys sway
thoughtless multitude
Great Pacific Garbage Patch ~
thoughtful attitude
Within the fragile frame of my fervent heart,
tinged with the tinsels of the amorous night,
my love gleamed with the enticing glow,
suffused with the sequins of your subtle grace.
I tried to feel the tempting touch
of your intangible mesmeric charisma,
but you glided away from my entranced sight
like the autumn cloud across my sky of dream.
From the threshold of my desire reverie
your footprints disappeared I didn’t know where.
With the turquoise thread of lingering longing,
I weaved the tapestry of fantasy in my dream.
From the ebony edge of the night of despair
storm clouds surged with thunders of tearing strife,
splintered my dream dispersed in debris,
and I realized my heart couldn’t yearn enough.
______________
June 1, 2023
Contest : Dreaming
Sponsored by : Regina McIntosh
If only tears could talk,
They would surely be cutthroats.
If only fear could walk,
It would blindly go toward you.
And if only grudges are strong,
It would hold you forever.
If I would be honest about what I feel,
and follow the lead of my freewill,
I will unquestionably end up in hell,
And yet I will still say that I am well.
This ain't just poetry or one of the romantic passages.
This is mind and heart unleashing the damages,
When the mind says no and the heart no longer says yes either,
Neither yes nor no, it no longer knew what to say, for it has withered,
And the soul that aches is silenced by the guilt of morality,
Tell me you will be there for me in another infinity.
Could you be serious for one minute? She asked.
Like the Dog Star? I quipped.
Radiant I glowed, and in the moment, basked;
Inexplicably, the next, I tripped.
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