Mysterious are we together,
Yes, we were warned opposites attract,
Still somehow nonsensical
That we should love the contrarinesses
Evident as north, south, east and west~
Rich & Rare as the whiskey
You chose that first night~
Us just makes sense of the insensible.
With these rings, we said, "I do,"
Never planned to play the fool.
Too young to grasp loves weight,
Too blind to heed its rules.
We were D—drifting, never devoted.
We were I—insensible, inconsiderate.
We broke our Vows, splintered trust.
We were O—reckless, outrageous.
We were R—tangled, bitter root.
We were C—careless, never committed.
We were E—estranged, unraveling fast.
A word we swore would never be ours
became the silent sentence:
Divorce.
Too immature for love’s responsibility,
we fled into goodbye.
I’m so perfectly perfect I have it all under control
My anxiety is running rampant
My death will be silent and slow
How frigid to feel the breeze on my skin
No matter the wind continues to blow
I’m stubborn I persist I don’t stop going toe to toe
My mind is reeling
My heart remains unfeeling
I must stop it I continue to grit
My fingers hurt from my theatrical shaping
My lips raw, trickling pomegranate seeds abating
Our minds are a mirror's fragments now facing each other
Reflecting rays of thoughts and passions from each ever-turning face
Building a house named "Sympathy" built from those shaky beams
Inspired by a passage from David Hume's A Treatise of Human Nature, Book 2, Section 5. "In general we may remark, that the minds of men are mirrors to one another, not only because they reflect each others emotions, but also because those rays of passions, sentiments and opinions may be often reverberated, and may decay away by insensible degrees."
An illusion; a blurred vision; psychic collision;
Deja vu caused in me an invisible division;
My mind and heart showed me a situation lived before,
What happened and what would happen floated from core to fore...!
Lightning of experiences of the past brightly stroke,
Streams of headspaces within seas of likes and dislikes broke;
A spasm of thoughts and feelings conscripted conflicting events,
Psychic disposition got divided into segments...!
A sensibly insensible synthesis churned within,
A feeling, like a pin-prick, erupted pain in my skin;
Within, existence flew flawlessly with fresh surprises,
With bounded and unbounded preciously pristine wises...!
20 February 2023
Deja vu Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
The Almighty will take care of us
We must pray by being only true
Our job, we must properly render
We must take efficient steps
We can never blame God at any time
As that is not the correct procedure
God is there to give us safety cover
And supply the best for us shrewdly
God must not be by us misunderstood
We cannot do bad things via prayer
As that is impossible and insensible
We must have a highly noble intention
Praying is a way of giving representation
Taking action is also our incumbent duty
But, obliging our prayer is God’s job
We cannot force or eagerly anticipate
When a prayer is done, matter is conveyed
After that we must proceed to concentrate
If results warm our heart, we stand to win
Or else, we must console our mind wisely.
I am guilty
I know
I killed a spider.
A miniscule tiny aspect of life
moving about its business
in my space.
It fled right
it fled left
it jumped up
it came down.
My godly presence
was everywhere
like a black night.
I smashed its plastic skeleton
its fluid internals popped outside.
The poor thing
just curled
and retracted
like a coil spring.
Then tears
rolled out, from my iron heart.
I thought;
Was it worth
whisking away life
to protect
this insensible fear?
What may be the hardest thing
Once thinks a human being
We people do many things
Through nonstop thinking and thinking
“It is hard to ride my new bicycle”
Said a kid with his little tricycle
Oh..no my dear boy you insensible
One day you could, said his gifted uncle
“I hardly can forget my past memories full of sadness”
It was a soldier lost everything through the war; ruthless
But, close was a stunning maiden shaped out of happiness
Her hands with a key were caressing his arms of roughness
Man can’t fly although a bird do
People said, watching what Wright brothers do
Today we all fly in a machine so,
It was hard , Yes; but not anymore
So, what could be the hardest thing, out of all
We stay thinking and thinking, no end at all
When something seems ‘the hardest’ we could think of
Another drudgery suddenly comes in front of
If you want to know, what I think as the hardest doing
It is exactly the opposite of what you are just doing
Have you ever tried to ‘be thinking of nothing’
Yeah..it’s the hardest as you are thinking to ‘be without thinking.’
13/8/2021
A jackdaw is stealing
my tote bag of unused words,
a rodentlike kibitzer, a pecking dictator
of the worthiness of sounds.
If I run out of bullets now
he will take over my range,
blue-pencil my graffiti,
he will denounce me
as a purveyor of insensible languages,
a peddler of demonstrations
made for the amusement
of dabbling dilettantes.
Then I shall be defenseless.
I will have to render down
the fat of my mind
and when it is all as lean tree bark
it will be my own wickiup,
there I will wait
until he comes creeping again
into my larder, aiming to rob me
of my last cracked chicken bones,
my winter store
to make just a little broth
for my tongue.
. for public domain
Children swing from big oak trees,
from lengths of rope in Summer's breeze,
flying free to catch the water,
rich man's, poor man's, son or daughter.
Apples too, and blossoms cherry,
swing upon their branches merry,
throughout our country's history,
without a shame or mystery.
And yet without one eye flinching,
ropes and trees still used for lynching
our own country's women and men,
insensible to brethren.
Trees have no truck with things we do,
outside the burning, stripping, hew.
Their innocence unstained by sin,
while ours blackened again and again.
Lupus Dei, grief of the heart, sealed eyes...
Has he not spoken of the total collapse of his identity?
Gorged in simplicity of his violent shadows, foreboding
Giving almost the most beautiful cataleptic look full of texture
The one that is in a dreamland between love and longing,
A heart completely exposed to a bayonet forged in the fires at Mediana.
A persistent agony of dissolution shall make no rule
As I demand it to be silent, in my head, in my heart, in my soul,
It shall not display negative or destructive rituals, or
Insensible impatience or it shall not raise the voice or angst
That would disturb the peace at a small well in the oasis of aspiration,
It shall not be prohibitive, unduly, infringing or chaotic,
It shall not be so!
Oh shadows, shadows of the dark,
Set the chain of events free
Let them be modest and true
In the darkened arc – ignite a spark
Let me in – let it be!
As ever, with love.
END
****
NOTE
****
Due to the character limitations this long poem had to be split into 7 parts to post.
During the day
there's a deceptive lull
in the staid common parlor
when the home seems deadly dull
Stale air, disinfectant and potpourri
stirred only by the worried, hurried strides
of harried nurses down hectic halls
stuffy efficiency personified
In contrast to those, the steady repose
of regular residents
dressed up and posed
as odd antique mannequins
in fusty old clothes
like some bizarre storefront
window display
Obsolete, old folks
like aged birds perch
lean and lurch
awkward and angular
nodding and napping
half-waking, flapping
on various arm chairs
Others like basset hounds
lay the room 'round
eyes shut, drooping jowls
intermittent gentle growls
little subtle snores
comfy and carefree
bodies drowsily draped over
the sides of settees
Insensible to sound
and drooling a bit
sweetly sleeping all throughout
like innocent toddlers
with cookie-smeared faces
ingenuous and
all played out
Then eventually, nursing staff
bustles them awake
for activities, dinner
more medicines to take...
Then off to bed
as visitors leave
deluded and deceived
thinking that's all there is
pitiful old people, tragically perceived
Sprawling chaotic city of modern times,
on its narrow roads snakes traumatic traffic,
every driver takes me for granted.
Life crawls, winding through insensible disarray,
compromised to the unbearable limit.
Suppressed anger bruises the silent psyche, tormented.
Far from the maddening crowd,
on the remote sea shore
the search for solitude goes in vain.
Intrusive strangers, the unflinching probing parasites prowl.
Mind irritated, finds peace crumble in cacophony,
tolerated to the agonizing edge.
Restrained fury stifles the mute mind, anguished.
Wonder when would my soul find its voice.
May 5, 2018.
The hunter went out to the bush
baits in hand, bird traps in the bag
birds flew and circled in morn air
as he released bait insects to clients
Little did clients know the danger
all scooped at the baits so delicious
the traps did good job for the hunter
as victims were twisted upside-down
Then they remembered it was a trick
the sky they could not see anymore
delicious meal offered became a curse
and no longer were they one in unity
Few specialized in noise making trade
neighbors pecked each other with beaks
whichever got off by luck joined hunter
everyone for itself, none for the other
Bird hunter took control of the territory
new generations of birds became victims
singing funerals hymns, cursing ancestors
as hunter grew loathsome and insensible
The marbles, dispersed, and unconstrained float carelessly,
Magnetise,
Mobilise,
Into perfect linearity.
As the magnetic force begins to falter, the marbles begin to fray,
I find myself between realities,
Of which neither I can appease,
The delineation between chaos and order grow evermore astray.
There are no gaps here in linearity,
None through which for me to fall,
Not a gap in between which I can crawl.
Though in the safety of constraint I am, in fact, unfree.
The marbles, in linearity, and constrained, they are perfunctory,
De-magnetise,
De-mobilise
Imperfectly, into uncertain foray and insensible folly.
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