Life is often painted in black and white
nothing darker do I fear
than the stygian plight of death.
My malaise is carried with unbearable weight
remembering each waking moment when
I didn't say "thank you" or "I love you."
Self-reproach is a penance I can never fulfill
because the dreadful thief of death
took you from me in the ebon reach of night.
I'm sick of hearing the meaningless words,
"You're lucky to be alive. Life is beautiful."
My life is a beautiful lie now that you're gone.
I'd give my life to find a way to you.
An alabaster portal is locked to me,
a pitiable wretched sinner.
If I were to paint it black would there be a chance
it would be blind to see who asks entrance?
But my fear of death...
keeps me from reaching into the pale to find you.
I cower in shame.
Damn my trembling hand that quivers and shakes,
for the portal denies my entrance.
My mind is an unassailable weapon against my will.
It paints in oils that are always blurred with kohl
and the agony inside of me will never be consoled.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow. " ~ Shakespeare
As fragments of the stars abandoned
the sage of night, my kohl heart bleeds
beside your trembling tombstone,
while soul aches to seize the
fading scents within
the iris of
auroras,
leaving
dreams
and
I, lost
like the speed
of shooting sparks,
twirling above ghosts
in the cemetery
of wild corpse roses, whistling
moonless requiems to ravens
blind to the truth etched in lithium...
"The darkened sky stole my tears,"
replaced the heat of hurt with jewels,
specks of lunar-glazed silver dust,
to see me sip rose-wine reveries of midnight,
where procrastinated promises
and dusky dreams of the heart linger...
Perhaps, I knew not my need ~
to be saved by the burning shimmers
and silken shivers of your silhouette
drifting through indigo azure in silence,
like flickers of love long veiled in haze ~
a reflection of nocturnal thirst.
If only you could undress your lyrical lens
to speak the unspoken ache
inscribed within infatuated ink ~
hidden beneath cerulean hymns
then I would not carve kohl lines,
of sleepless sighs lost to time...
So unlock the garden of galactic secrets
breathing within the soul of stars
twinkling russet tales of twin-flames.
There I'll reside, where your voice ricochets,
as the devoted black diamond ~
forever engrossed in dews of desire...
kohl eyed crust e r
u p
t s
like molten
t r
e m
o
r s of heart ~
inner inferno
I blow smoke of dreams to daffodil streams,
beneath the sky, engrossed in love’s last sigh,
while this heart quivers, drunk on astral fever,
in the kohl-lined arms of the cold midnight,
kissing my soul in silver slivers…
O velveteen warrior, allow my gaze to trace lifelines~
sailing interstellar seas of electric stars
wrapped in whimsical wisps,
to leave our closing phrase on the lips of moon-haze,
as I breathe the silk of Luna’s wistful breeze~
drawn from the rosy dusk of his restless repose...
And this pearl ~ the nebulous clarity ~
emblazoned in pixelated poetry,
shall be the timeless spark of twin flames,
amidst the pull of bruised-blue silence…
kohl tombstones
enveloped by mist . . .
the vanished moon
One among the eight heroine types keen (utkanthita)
to end separation (viraha) from her beloved
____________________
My eyes long for one glimpse of thy visage
That eludes me like a mirage,
My arms ache imagining thy embrace
When will I see thou face to face?
All I desire, thy touch bereft for long,
O come, enliven the lonely notes of my song,
Come, let me remedy the cause
Of thy leaving me, what so hurting was,
Let not go waste this sandal paste on my forehead,
Let not these fresh flowers fade,
Nor kohl in eyes with my tears spread,
This golden belt on waist,
These silver anklets, all my ornaments,
And womanhood of my garments,
Join me to plead: O let no more time waste.
____________________
Natya Shastra | 01.02.2025 |
Note: This is first of Ashta-Nayikas, eight heroine types, as classified in a Sanskrit treatise on performing arts in Bharata’s Natya-Shastra. The state (avastha) of the eight romantic heroines widely themed in Indian paintings, literature, sculpture, classical dance forms and music. Virahotkanthita, suffering separation, is the first of the eight such heroines depicted here in poetic form.
Moon spills over like expresso coffee,
withheld in a pitch pitcherlike corset —
Where long her skin's lantern once mothered me,
over tonight are but marble shadows,
Craters' paled apparition in my sky —
those cold breasts now an invisible blur;
This adrenaline dark when light's in wane,
virgin drinks in her cup's phase finally;
Still through a kohl tongue she kisses my hate —
this moon reads newly with every pause.
Christ a phantom through my hours
flames within a kohl tongue
psalms crack the white cloth like a razor
On the way back
piercing kneeling knees,
a broken crown's mask
glistening
kindling
memory
Christ a phantom through my hours
piercing kneeling knees —
memory
POTD
How I wish I could have clutched
vignettes of remembrance
on this bench in a park;
the same wooden one
which cradled our afternoons,
feeding little birds
as slices of pang gripped my marrow--
The sharp sting of her farewell,
right on this spot
drowned time's kohl of fate---
that now, I hold the seat's arms limply,
if only to recall
how we kissed in the dark
exploring east, west of mouths--
my fingers messing her hair
nipping quick hours of rendezvous.
I forget not the windswept look
of her distant eyes... hours I have
delayed with my misgivings,
my absence wretchedly crossed ---
and upon my woman's leaving
I on this park every sordid night
kiss her only in my thoughts ---forgive.
The sky scatters pixie dust~
across orchards of dragonflies;
while in sunflowers, the stars do trust,
tracing tales through kohl-lit eyes.
A fairy cloaked in soft florals~
fragranced moon-mists and rhinestone rust.
But within veins of golden corals,
she weaves hope with saffron crust.
When your eyes get wet from within,
Ghazals mellow get from within.
The why for this one just is that
Tears well in eyes, set from within.
Clothes on washing thinner may get,
Scarce muslin fine get from within.
Doubt, mere wordsmiths make good pen,
Comes that innate skill from within.
Let smoke, like hate, smoulder for long,
It can’t emit light from within.
Each, every kind of carbon soot
Can’t like a kohl bat from within.
Sky deludes as Nature’s false roof,
Get on floor, create from within.
____________________
Ghazal |16.11.2024| poem, poet
sullen is this night
bearing the burden of toil
as footwalk grows bleak…
crushed weeds,
skeletal trees :
molussk and corn
wait not for anyone
while sandstones drift
mocking the light.
Against kohl shadows
time stalls
to maim common workers
peeling the dark...ebon
craving for innocent stars;
that even stalks weep
slapped by winds--
how in blood of silence
men, women,children
wrestle with indignity
leashed on tattered marrow ,
yet they reap hope
until night’s edge---
restless thoughts gnaw
and... they gaze past clouds
finding comfort in the rain.
Fireflies reel as autumn arrives
Shimmering into kohl of night,
Tiny plumes charm ...in moonlit dives
To rollercoast until twilight--
To later fade, die from my sight!
The spring of healing has its own anthem,
It takes the sand and the sun to mold an ornament of time,
Glaring upon the moving mirror that floats on cold water,
Blinded by a blaze set by the sins that made silent quivers run through the chambers of this once upon a time frozen heart,
Lightnings that run through the roof of these forsaken memories,
What is it about pain that makes evils seem soothe,
That makes wicked wounds under broken bruises,
No one mentioned how mending too can be mutilating,
How the unforgiving frosts crack and pierce through the lungs,
How igniting the sky full of light takes a sigh of ethereal lanterns,
Yet they come with a handful of sorrows and compassion,
Drawn from a dream to wish upon the moon that sparkles for a night of bliss,
Let us be amongst the hope once again,
alone as a whole,
The glistening gold in autumn,
The deepest line in kohl,
Forever we can be the ocean that flow,
Without a prey nor predator,
Just the living and the specs of salt.
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