The old man is searching
for forgiveness of his soul
Deserted by his family
and left out in the cold
Finds himself upon the footpaths
raids the "wheelies" for a feed
Society lacks compassion
not much help for those in need
This man like many others
residing on the street
Dressed in rags and tatters
wraps newspapers around his feet
Some nights he's feeling lucky
finds a vacant bench to sleep
A harsh unforgiving society
what we sow is what we reap
"I write from the core-
A mythic- street voice imprinted
From lived truth.
Shawdows and light footpaths walks with
Me;
I turn experiences into pulsation
Mental image into momentum,
Silence into something that
Share ideas.
My lines carry fortitude and grace,
Syllabary rising from the everyday
Rhythm shaped by subsistence,
Imagery born from what the
World trained me.
I am a writer of volume,
A poet of emotional transparency,
Building architecture from pain,
Alchemy from the imperfect,
And fire from the spaces I refused to fold.
This is my terrain-
Where honesty stands towering,
Where spirit threads through the grout,
Where every poem is a step evolved
From everything I've lived and everything
I'm becoming."
CLOCK
darting
through footpaths
poignant memoirs yearn
for unspent revelries
where life's seasons fall in haste
" precious moments ripped by time's hands"
Evening settles along San Antonio’s River Walk
where the river has carried centuries~
Payaya canoes gliding through reeds,
Franciscan friars mapping water to mission,
stone masons shaping banks
that would one day cradle a city.
The water moves with its old patience,
green and unhurried,
bearing the memory of every hand
that once depended on its flow.
Cypress roots clutch the earth
the way they did long before
the first chapel bells rang.
Bridges replace where footpaths once wound.
Boats slip past,
their lights shimmering like stories
recalling river foraging,
and irrigation lifelines
I feel how the river gathers every era~
Indigenous footsteps,
mission bells, and
modern dusk~
The place seems almost sacred,
not through grandeur,
but through the
quiet and faithful way
it keeps passing moments
in the curve of its water.
I stand overwhelmed
By the freshness
of the morning dew
Which surpasses
The fragrance of lavender
Of morning roses.
The screaming winds
A fortiori
The raised curtains
Walls without roofs
‘Entrez’ pandemonium?
‘Je suis levre au regard’
Parabolique trajectoire
The missing golden thread
The shooting star hurtles through the sky
Footpaths to nowhere
Who can toe this line ?
A real pity.
I stand overwhelmed
Ensconced at their wits’ end
Puissant proof of glory
Vitriolic outbursts of misdirected anger
I stand overwhelmed.
I have been deceived all this while,
By all the angels cloaked in a dear disguise.
'Follow the way of light, my child, ' they all cooed,
For they knew too well I was never shrewd.
Off I went, probing for those lights,
Something to put an end to my wakeful nights.
But manipulation, oh my dear,
Sounds sweeter when it is feared.
I never found those lights, I never did indeed,
In the cruel footpaths of naivety and those angels' deeds.
All I ever found was a world so shadowy,
Lit up with lights that glow darkly.
with dusk approaching
the radiance of the day
melts in the rain
streetlights smear
the autumn colours
across the footpaths
doubling the display
of chromatic foliage
autumn gloats
AP: Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2025
‘I was born with the meaning of home running through my veins.’ - Lauren Eden
**************************************************************
Light
with home rule in my veins
paternal care not vain words
motherly hug a retreat
sisterly smiles like rays of sunshine
the mind free to wander like the breeze
early to rise a routine
offering devotions a sheer joy
the glow of inner light
now illumines my journey of life
goads me to the rightful path
ever keeps me company
as a benign guardian
as I steadily trail my footsteps
during the midday sunshine
in the solemn silence of sunset
alongside solitary moonlit footpaths
and in the darkness of night
when I retreat home
to lay my head back on my pillow
In the city's streets
Cars bought with loans-
Second-hand,third-hand models,
Number two cars
Soared in number.
Parkings sprawled into
The hearts of the roads.
E- rickshaw halt
Blocking the paths.
Women vegetable vendors
Occupy the footpaths.
Traffic police are busy
Qualling quarrels between
Auto rickshaw drivers
And woman vendors.
Police constable lurk
For bribes in the shadows.
The goverment and people
Go their ways often
Ignoring the rules.
A chaotic dance
For all to see.
This is the plight
Of my city.
(Depended on a local newspaper in writting this poem)
Clouds hang low on stained
footpaths slick with moss clinging
as vines of green. He
waits in rain for a quiet
rendezvous, hardly breathing.
Halloween in 16 lines of Rhyme 10-16-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Halloween Graveyard
Light intones the creeping darkness
Fallen leaves scrape broken paths
Distant footsteps, heard in semi-darkness,
Wail and weep on incensed footpaths.
Growing shadows blot out twilight
Darkness descends -a deathly pall –
Stone angels watch the hallowed night
Tangled weeds grab like black rainfall.
An outstretched palm hovers o’re the spine
Trembling hands brush at unseen breath
Above their graves haunted ghosts align
Prickly terror screams in cold sweats.
Shouts through chaos in moaning winds
From crypts of tears – spirits unleashed
Souls trapped in macabre whirlwinds
Midnight breaks the spell – souls released.
A cold wind.
Whatever was here has fled inside
or has curled up in a corner somewhere
out of sight and gone to sleep.
Footpaths are tiled in the wet,
skeletal remains of leaves
and tree trunks have begun to wear
their gray winter coat of lichen.
There is an honesty in the landscape,
the scaffolding that holds form
together is no longer concealed
by a camouflage of color, the eye
is confronted by what lies beneath.
Cover withers away to bare ground,
the earth takes breath, bathes
in the chilly glow of a winter sun.
I also come to this place,
to this stark season of truth
and see myself stripped back
to the bones and sinews of me.
The wind blows through the same
vacant spaces, unpicks the pretense
to let a cold light shine through.
I don't like what I see.
For a moment I imagined
seeing your face in the crowd,
Smiling, as if it were expecting
To see me, and as the joy
Of a lifetime of love cascaded
Through my being I wanted to shout:
“Here am I!”
Alas, your features morphed
Into stranger’s face,
And my reaching being gasped
As if being deprived
Of the last of my strength.
Oh, sweet soul!
I close my eyes
And clench my eyes and fists
At the thought that I would
Have to walk, alone, again
Along the ivy-bordered lanes
And gravel-strewned footpaths
Telling myself that the strength
Of my memories of you
Will sustain me through life…
I often go for walks down nature paths,
& today I stroll through a broken gate;
love the twisting way & tangled footpaths,
perhaps it chose me- perhaps it was fate.
The trees tremble, whisper & song bird's chirp,
I find some tombs- crumbling, so cold, so dark;
the birds trill, tweet & whistle with a twirp,
this place serene & reflective like a park.
Pages of my life whirl in confusion,
I hear voices & murmurs call my name;
I am chilled in this utter seclusion,
the names deep engraved & mine are the same.
Rain falls, falling on each gray hidden stone;
& I read my own name on a tombstone.
In ice cave or deep woods
In multistories malls or deserted footpaths
In prettiest arm of lover or deep sleeps
Where do you dwell
O! my dear
In wars or peace
In friends or foes
In loneliness or crowded cities
Where do you dwell
Oh! My dear
In wins or defeats
In smalls or greats
In abstract or concrete
Where do you live
Oh! My dear.,.
Are you real Or fake
Are you love Or hate
You for me Or me for you
What are you
Oh! My dear
H A P P Y N E S S
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