UTTERANCES OF PASSION -:-
surrounded
mobilized
reality
invoking
silence
IN DRAMATIC SCENERY
containing
abstract
dynamic
figured
technique
of ARTICULATED IMAGINGS
familiarly
arranged
experiences
massed
irrevalences
There’s a lash implanted in deep
Bound to the nature that drives me
It’s not the scourge itself that stings the most,
it’s the knowledge of why the flicks fall
Knowing the satiety of extinct flesh
Knowing the saccharinity of bygone honor:
The honor of being the only exception
And knowing the omnipresent void they leave behind
Now I only know hunger
There’s martyrdom in surrendering to the abject draw of the scourge
There’s Christ-like pain in adoration beyond station and beyond forethought
I’ve been marred, somehow without death and without cure
Left to live a life afflicted by the idea there’s more I’ll never be
I know the loss more familiarly than the lash
So, when the taste of loss still lingers on my lips,
you have to understand the nature of it
The one who delivered a garden of roses, which also bears thorns?
A scenery that vanishes with time?
Or Memories of warmth destined to be bottled up?
Yet you were the rope I held tightly onto.
A daydream that rescued me from the clutches of a nightmare,
The comfy breeze that swept the lonely soul and
The water that revived the withered branches!
Now, as I hide myself in the closet of happiness that once gave me solace;
I bury myself in the abyss of darkness, swallowing ache.
I found you in the lively days as well as in lifeless nights,
Like a familiarly disguised portrait
And in the unfamiliar words of a renowned book!
Tears bounce back as the past runs behind,
I tremble hard as shivers run down the spine.
In a blanket of chaotic silence, I tread halfway down the lane,
Where I felt, it's wiser to press forward than to cast glances behind!
Hoping that passing clouds make the sun brighter, when they only bring rain
And now, who am I to you?
OFF TO SCHOOL
So you're off to boarding school,
It'll be the making of you, my lad,
Muses the bespectacled gentleman,
Sat behind his morning paper,
The commuter train steaming
Its trundling way
Past opened curtains
Of genteel suburbia.
Familiarly hypnotic rhythm
From the clickety-clacking track
Continues, scarcely heeded
By the carriage's motley clientele,
Disturbed from comatose reveries,
Enduring the drilled strains
Of unwelcome conversation.
Hostile eyes look up in
Bristling annoyance
At a shy, enclosed boy,
Who keeps locked-in silence
On his first uncertain foray
Into the strange world beyond
The comfortable boundaries
Of his homely playpen.
when certain voices speak
something inside me pricks up unseen ears
inviting the best of schizophrenia: mind, ego, body, the Deep
we are a lot of trouble - our degrees, you, and me
and the scientific way with the unknowable
knowing nothing of that which dwells within WE
yet when powerful suns glow and speak
the uneducated part of me listens like a child again
to voices back from India, familiarly sweet
lulling this plastic shell with data and pixel to sleep
so my own light - Deep, Deepak - is like Father Fire again
while through windows stained, sons peek
LISTEN! Listen intently ... imperceptibly gentle voices
Singing of a once glorious Ganges, mighty Mississippi, magnificent Missouri
How to sing when overcome by men and women's vices
when Grandfather Spirit is hung from a totem pole for psuedo-science
but the Data was always here, is here, will always be
light and sound allow my atom to cross the silence
(c)Deo, published and recyled since 2005.
You promised us high heavens in the name of change
but your plans and policies are familiarly strange.
Our past leaders have plundered our national pride
but you seem not to have a clue to cure this timely tide.
You hunt those who have committed grave atrocities;
can you please help the innocent with great policies...
Since “Change begins with you” is your new chorus,
please do not forget that you are a significant part of us.
I stand with you but I do not understand this change-chains;
my love and loyalty strive to survive under purest of pains.
If change begins with me, pains should not begin with you...
I wish you could make this dark cloud bright and blue.
We do not expect you to be an economic or social magician,
O that we could see in you a truly progressive politician.
I will like you to change your political chorus and focus;
change begins with me but true change begins with us.
True leaders do not have a sweet say or have their way...
They lead right in front to show others the way.
(PICTURE PERFECT ) - THANK YOU
For the winds that blow the rain to the dry
And thirsting crops of July;
For the hopeful song of my woman there
With a sleeping baby in a rocking chair;
And for her eyes so clear and the way they change -
Strangely familiar, and familiarly strange;
And for the smells of new baked bread
As the kids get sleepily out of bed;
And for cold mountain streams -
Tasting better than the elixirs of dreams;
And for a friendship remembered from long ago
Fondly cherished before we had to go.
Silent persistence peeling skin from bone
With undamaged precision
Easing an imperceptible knife into flesh
Exposing a fragile heart
Stripped with naked vulnerability
Surrendering willingly to anaesthetized hands
Craving achingly raw excision
Clouded with hope filled desperation
A lullaby of forged belief
Eyes fixated on the gentle thudding of beating
Echoing from fading warmth between palms
Subconsciously awaiting unavoidable regret
Intensely flaming pain searing through a bruised, empty cavity
Antagonistic fingers familiarly penetrating, ripping apart
A heart eager to love, drenched in gullibility
Opening bleeding wounds along already scarred edges
Leaving torn pieces distraughtly scattered
Bloodied feeling slowly draining
Wisps of past shadowed ghosts
Self-encouraged to plague again
Evaporating out of void eyes
Ravaging reflected destruction
Self condemned through the hands of a mere puppet
Shameful pain piecing brokenness back together
Cradling the fading beauty in shrouds of detestation
Dissipating into silence
Drowning in a symphony of tears
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