My timid heart is at a standstill
Quiet through her gentle whisper
She gazes my way with disquietude
Can this be?
She empathizes with my habitual dolor?
Are we one and the same?
Her beauty reflects her buried affliction
Her coming and going reflects her astuteness
Her downfall of fallacy attests to her reality
The persistence shines upon her personality
Truth prevails through her love for humanity
There was a day set aside for the wedding
but the groom was very much dreading
it would be the same day
his grand final would play
and that’s where it looked it was heading
Alas his worst fears came true
So what was he s’posed to do?
Change the date
he’d marry his mate
or send a substitute to say “I do”?
Of course, that could be done covertly
The team had done it before with Curtley
but if the bride found out
she’d give him a clout
and the next month he’d spend inertly
So I hope we have the real groom today –
shame on his mates for staying away
but he stayed away too
when best man for Stew
and the ladies can still throw the bouquet
The bride is also very fond of her sport
loving a good tussle on field and on court
It’s clear and plain
she knows Glen’s pain
and she’s the kind and compassionate sort
This wedding’s been the perfect storm
The bride’s team’s in awesome form
Today’s their final too
So what’s Jane s'posed to do?
Miss it, or follow the wedding norm?
I’m sorry the groom’s grumpy and pre-occupied
but the final’s on now and he’s not in the side
but Jane empathizes
with his sacrifices
having hired a substitute bride!
Troubled souls come seeking my learned advice
Pour out their hearts accompanied by bitter tear,
And share the anguish of their burdened soul
Hoping this lowly counselor’s words will suffice,
To bring some comfort, some freedom from fear
Help them cope with reality and gain some control.
The counselor listens intently and empathizes, too,
Tries to restore confidence, mend the broken whole
Even what is unspoken, the best of counselors hear,
Knowingly suggesting courses to see suffers through
Known for ability to console.
written June 17, 2021
The huntsman’s horn in
The School Boy is non-
native. But he likes the
poem, hears a snake-
charmer’s pipe vicariously,
empathizes with Blake’s
boy’s love of innate
freedom, and then doodles
in boredom. Next period,
he slips down from
the top of Pythagorean
theorem. He snoozes in
the Neolithic Age at noon.
His brain balks at learning.
Teachers avoid pain with
peace of passivity. ****
virus infects his inner
system. Parents are too
busy to install anti-virus.
He draws obscene pictures
with a charcoal, as if raping
the urinal wall. He rises
up in the hashish fumes
and floats in the space.
Holes in the thought-layer are
invisible to him. He runs
wild, celebrating impulses.
An unrefined man is
a malignant growth
from the negligence.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
Dancing young climber Mandevilla, wears neon green leaves,
adorning the terrace garden with its mounting thin sheaves.
Owner family water daily, the plant is healthy
when they cuddle the plant and trim old leaves, it feels happy
Whenever it perceives their presence, it does some signals
to gather their attention, if they respond, it giggles
It often hears their talking and prays for their gaieties
On a calm night, they vent about the plant and feel guilty
for not bracing flowers, thinking they didn't give right manure
Plant empathizes with their feelings, next day flower blooms
Sep-15-2017
14 syllables per line
Intricate folds open, exposing life nurturing moisture
Delicate, defying it’s true gift
Strong, nurturing and life giving as a woman
Thorns deter those who would thieve her nectar
A variety of rose’s, blooming with life
The multiplicity of woman
Beautiful and elegant
An ear empathizes with others pain
Disarming vanity enable ideas to chain
Adoring with admiration
What is it like to be a she?
A blooming pink rose glowering in morning sun
Simple complexity admitting allure
A blooming, dew moistened yellow rose
Drinking sunshine, projecting enviable femininity
Blooming femme' rose
The dusty hurling wind guided the darker cloud
Towards the stony shrine of a lonesome mountain.
With a roaring thunder, mountain cried out loud
And tears flooded its bosom in disguise of rain.
The bosom which is full of painful dry volcano
That sighed and waited for coming out in rage.
Instead with its teary rain tuned a pale piano
To sing a melacholic note of torn lyrical page.
Mountain,with toughness, cries with soft heart
Thorough deep smoky sighs, thunders and rains.
No one seeks its rocky heart, internally burnt
Or empathizes with its unsoothed thorny pains.
There are so many voices heard and unheard in me.
I want to listen to the silences that are making noise inside.
You define me a “you” though.
One voice orders me to go,
(Or should I say I?)
Other pleads me to remain,
(Or should I say I?)
One bullies me,
(Or should I say I?)
One empathizes me,
(Is it the prime me?)
Which one is mine?
Or
What do I want?
Or
Who am I?
Perhaps I should call her who reside
Deepest inside my heart and have a walk together.