A brotherly jaunt through sinister mirth
behold the brothers Death:
gowned and guided, an ill century
the fourteenth, an alliance of crop, of plague
in ground-down death of torrential pains
in sores and blood under the rains
that drowned the land, starved the bellies
there echoed howls of ill exclaim
a wanting of a light to shine
is where the brothers thought that they
worked well together, effectively
one would scoop from ruined crop
one from sickness, war, attack
the beak, a sign, of the plague mask
in shacks, where hags mopped weeping rot
crosses on doors, on floors of straw
with nothing in the cooking pot
the brothers danced and sang their wealth
of many clientele they sought
and on they went, and on they struck
perfecting songs on appetites
of pestilence and of disease
hand in hand like trees whose leaves
do smother, smite, in murderous breeze
the brothers, down the ages tease
and beckon, wreaking havoc on,
like rolling waves of seas on high
always taunting their sister - life
So many earths to unearth....
worlds that define my history
like a geological time capsule;
you see,
I hid them from seas
of terror
in a world of fear.
I shoveled them down
for years,
until I forgot how they look like.
Sometimes I exhume them
for remembrance,
only to crowd my mind
with unnecessary mess
all over again......
Through this world
I wandered around at random
I was at the mouth of the volcano,
I've been in the cold of the cold...
I'm a man who thinks,
that everything passes in time,
and that in occasions I'm just silence,
other times deep hell...
I've had my time of anarchy,
I already had my time of pure pleasure
now I live a time of poetry,
now my time is just to harvest...
I live almost without legs,
little movement of my bones,
I use my mind much further now,
but I still dare to walk a few steps,
to carry my seed to others...
I lived, I lived, I confess that I lived,
as Neruda once said,
I did well, I poured out wealth,
If evil exists, I haven't seen it, I don't realize...
I hate it then, I never felt
I only gave acts too,
I live this way, that's my law
many love me, others, maybe... !
Not by itself is life complicated,
Let me not push world to ways of my head.
If I try and forgive but can’t forget,
Worse than a spell in hell my life may get.
What makes things look dark clouds is memory,
So, let me drain off all its history,
And everything in life’s jigsaw would fit,
Suddenly, lo, life’s so simple and sweet!
Good that I cannot my past lives recall,
One life’s memories take enough of toll.
And yet, few foster can that fortitude
To live alone in desert’s solitude,
Wonder, mind can fit a handy hard-disk
That picks and prunes memories at no risk!
________________________________________
Sonnet in couplets |05.08.2022|
Poet’s note: Reflecting on life, an old couple (old, what else? Youth has just no time to waste on reflections) exchanges views on the ways of world. The husband initiates the discussion and contributes the octave of this sonnet, and wife, the concluding sestet (yes, she always has the last word).
orange sun rising to the east
as i sit aloft a mountain top
time stands still in this ancient land
has it been one minute or one day
is it the future or is it the past
Gondwanaland is sharing her stories
sharing her dreaming of ancient times
as i look to the west
orange sun sets
Miss
Tree
Mystery
Fix
Root
For life
Be
Deep
Live long
Leave
Dye
Stay free
Make
Life
History
-October 14, 2018 Chattogram
History, schmistory.
Or, so you say;
But without history
Do you know,
Where we'd be today?
For history is yesterday,
teaching today
How to live tomorrow,
So that it can live a life
Of happines,
Not sorrow.
Oh, but alas, the lessons
Of the past are spurned;
At the cost of the future,
Its great lessons
Are not learned.
We live for the present,
That "here and now."
We give in to our pleasures,
To each whim
We bow.
Yet if we forget the past,
We'll only repeat it;
And the future we seek?
We'll never truly
See it.
So history is important,
For you see,
With out history
We're not better off
Than the fish
In the sea.
in the dawn of the coming new year
we both know that nothing from the outside will
help within &
with this knowledge, one can suck on an exhaust pipe &
end it all
oh so quickly,
or find a place within which
when strengthened with the will & the
will alone,
can be more powerful than anything that might
make the attempt on this life that
we have chosen---
this new place that we alone have selected cannot be stolen
it cannot be demanded by anyone
it cannot be touched by the corruption around
it cannot be destroyed by
anyone but ourselves.
if you choose to spit on all convention
you alone are liberated
you choose this path for yourself &
you have no regrets---
if you choose to burn all tradition
you begin to write a new history
a new history free of the dirtied & bloodied hands
you begin to breathe again
you begin to smile again
you begin to walk free & powerful where those before have only
slithered on the ground
you begin to demand from this short life what it has tried so long to
demand from you.
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