— Of Wind, Longing, and the Privilege of Touch—
O, that I were the mild vespertine air,
that steals through jasmine when the day is done,
and, fragrance-laden, wander'd everywhere
to find her face before the sinking sun;
I'd pass where rain lies dark upon the stone,
and draw the tellurian breath of earth,
then lose myself where roses bloom alone
and breathe their secret back to fragrant birth;
I'd find the hollow sleeping by her cheek,
where one loose filament trembles in the air,
and, being less than silence, scarcely speak,
yet feel her pulse make all the heavens bare;
And should her lips breathe softly, “Who hath been?”—
I'd be the wind... and love her all unseen.
The sky breaks into mauve moths,
fluttering against the unlighted bathroom window.
Three minutes ago, it was a solid, stern day,
now the trees rustle and tap with purple rain,
and the sun has been hidden
by a secret mountain that wasn’t there before.
The insect of thought retracts its claws,
wilting in the lavender hour.
Perfume of light hangs heavy in the hallway,
while the tap listens for footsteps that never come.
The horizon bleeds red,
a slow, velvet hemorrhage,
and shadows blend into a silent, watery, inverted sky.
It is all over:
The horses have forgotten how to run,
and the moon is busy hanging glass stars on the pines.
It weaves a new net for the waking dream.
A garden gate unlocked but rusted shut
evokes what memory plays on stringless lyres
Between the furrowed hedgerows standing witness
there lives a fated wish of heart’s desire
Alone unvisited throughout the seasons
to weather scorching sun — inclement rain
The loneliness of what once was grows ere despondence
waiting on an unkept promise made in vain
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Today as ere Dhara’s alive,
So is Goddess of all Learning,
Vivacious learned seem to thrive,
Bhoj back to Earth, long live the king.
__________________________
Translation | 27.10.2025 | alive, education/learning, king
Note: To continue from the preceding verse… the king, not really dead, returns, and Kalidas, when asked, just modifies marginally the earlier verse to paint a different picture. One can note here the felicity of poet Kalidas to pen a piece extempore-- a minor twist and the meaning changes 180 degrees. Alas, the English translation cannot match it. Transliteration of the Sanskrit is as under:
Adya dhara sadaa-dhaaraa sadaa-lambaa sarasvatee |
Panditaam manditaam sarve bhoja-raaje bhuvam gate ||
Internet mania, a double-edged sword,
Prez campaigns, fun nor frolic can afford,
Memes may make huge buzz,
But few votes for the fuss,
Fans may turn sudden foes,
And goodwill sooner goes,
Look at Trump, he now whimpers who ere roared.
____________________________________
Happenings |03.08,2024| political, USA
Poet’s note: kamala Harris may have turned a phenomenon, or rather a ‘feminomenon’ at present to command a lot of fun and froth on social media. The question is would they turn into actual votes in November? One hopes, she does not become a victim like Hillary Clinton. Prez campaigns cannot hinge on coconut jokes.
Alert the authorities
Everybody properly dresses
Dependents are priorities
Pilot light distinguishes
Ready pets safe
Chemical fire extinguishes
Clear out exits
Examine any irregularities
Everybody out safe
What good is weeping
after the fact
The time to shed tears
is when passion's intact
When the romance has fled
and your sweetheart's attacked
Crying your eyes out's
a suicide pact
Priceless precious what we speak,
We all do and far too quick,
O let your heart weigh words well
Ere tongue turns them out to spell.
________________________________
Boli ek anmol hai, jo koi bolai jani,
Hiye taraju tauli ke, tab mukha bahar ani.
Everyone knows to speak, but few know the value and weight of their words, nor their capacity to make mischief. Kabeer advises people to weigh every word with the weighing balance (taraju) of their heart (hiye) before it is uttered. A fool is he of a worldly-wise school that knows it not.
The night sky is darkest before dawn
Ere the sun peeps over the horizon,
Before I have stretched or had a yawn
The night sky is darkest before dawn.
While the nightshades are still drawn,
And the world is waiting for the risin’
The night sky is darkest before dawn,
Ere the sun peeps over the horizon.
Written October 5, 2022
(Series: A prisoner needs love)
I got wild – called for a spice
Told my chest to set my heart on fire
I need not to be white – I need to be black
When I saw the assembly of slanderers i want to face.
I raced myself to the elders
Took portions of advices to wrap it up
In a grain sheep wool to weave / around a white cloth
Strapped with a black and blood thread / snoring in a calabash.
God answered the prayers of leaves and grasses
The freshness of a new soul / but a seed of my fire has been sowed since my feet took the race
A step cut firewood
A step grew fire
A step grew fangs
A step intoxicated the head of the fire
A step launched obsessions for imagination in my head
A step encouraged a guilt feelings that is clearer than the sky.
Before me I see my fire lingering in good spirit
But with enthusiasm I want to sip my coffee watching
Terror filled me ere I slept,
Horrors loomed behind closed eyes.
I recalled Your promise kept;
Darkest visions turned to peaceful sighs.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
(For the ‘Lind30’ Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
2/4/22)
I know she loved me
not because she told me
but because she showed me.
Silky fingers through my hair
nibbled kisses everywhere
pleasure nigh too much to bear.
Wordless whispers in breath soul deep
foreordained our fusion to keep
thus I know she loved me 'ere I sleep.
She came she strived
She forged through
Making success a mockery
Your dance a mystery
Your laugh an history
It was a disturbing wonder
To leave and not be forgotten
Lying still but not silent
Breaking fetters
Crossing borders
Draining the years
Running like sand
Between her feet
She moulded an extra day
Moulding her words to life
Made rainbow across a darkened sky
Showered dew on the deadened lives
Arousing the buried night
Bringing all a troubled sleep
Bridging two worlds
Fulfilling the dream
Raking all the unripened fruits
Into a ripening basket
Inviting her world
To a ripened Feast
Early on, ere the grassy knoll gathers momentum
huddled shivering against the ground, stemless tops
of yellow dot the lawns of the old neighborhood, signaling
winter's demise without shouting Spring too loudly...
In a wink or a blink of an eye, these wild buttons
mushroom, spreading far and wide, usurping
the green mantle of my lawn, stems now shooting forth
twisting and turning at jagged angles, bizarrely...
at times, wild undergrowth barging into a (civilized) urban plot
when poof! their signature yellow smiles vanish, dispersed into
puff balls, architectural marvels, wind-scattered seeds, ubiquitous
but not before my inner child picks out a lovely bouquet
for my saintly mother
April 07, 2019
Entry in DANDELIONS contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
J-ust
I-solate
N-ight
G-ray
R-ight
E-re
Y-our
E-ager
S-oul
Topic: Birthday of Jing T. Reyes (January 07)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.