Long Anguishes Poems
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ping.
transitory hysteria—
just a check in
automated, fabricated,
robotic inhuman software
conscripted to, destitute
of mortal empathy.
nevermore your communication
yet condemned to hope.
reticence prolonged anew—
boundless, asystolic display,
pulseless heart
undesired, inconspicuous.
isochronous laxness stemmed
inconcurrent pure affection.
adoration inequitable,
hanging time itself
costing soul and morals
for your gratification.
ping.
amperages of delirium,
spasm of pleasure, cardiovert
mechanical thumping afresh
owing to invariable closure.
retina regulated to contact—
titillations unparalleled
abstract surpassing acumen.
ingenious mayday, wholly
for schooled minds,
lapses to neglect by all.
ablution, deterring loathing
of own stupidity, yet
detrimenting tranquil sanity.
personal beguilement, reiteratively,
“I love you,” an utterance
seldom transcribed from them,
devoid of inevitability.
edge pressed to tissue,
unseamed cephalic vessel
surges sanguine fluid
cruelly ironic, amassing atop
the very accessory
of inconversable love.
anaemically ascertaining
for anguishes and sorrows,
saline flaps flutter in irrevocability.
cadaverous repose,
unfettered.
ping.
ping.
ping.
ping.
ping.
In infinite darkness
an ancient ache cried out
from which came many tears
and so they became
lights in the firmament;
Stars in the night!
From Darkness comes light
and of the deeper,
allured to those Dreams
a loneliness is cast
to the edge of forever
in longing swells.
There is nothing left to burn
when infernal anguishes sputter;
the Stars are falling!
---
With Darkness comes light
from the longing of the night ...
We echo each other like Souls as one,
between the watery Moon and the fiery Sun,
a Love ascends us to mutual bliss,
in ecstasies longing where lips cannot kiss ...
You are a Starry light in this Firmament
to which I wish upon your Star
for the writings and words like thee,
to bring forth happiness over misery ...
In the Darkest of Nights
where you swell with a Heart of Love,
Your tears are like the Starry lights
that were shed from up above!
Your tears are an instrument of Love,
as Stars are the tears of night!
Through the prism of the soul, a mysterious alliance of reflections is bound,
Pieced together from shards of worlds lost under bare soles.
Streams of betrayal trickle over the skin, constructing ruby maps
In ten directions, to be wrung out, to be cleansed of primal anguishes.
The agony writhes, a tremor of despair suffocated between stammering sobs,
A home is built upon the canvas of reality, just to see it shattered in the porcelain of promises.
The sign of peace is vain when screams sustain an endless echo,
From the ashes of your being, the fire stubbornly flares up towards the infinite.
You tread over embers hidden beneath ash, anguish on hot coals –
Your home smokes the reddish light of dusk under the weight of silence.
The scent of cigars and the noise of fallen bottles in a symphony of shadow and flight,
Each step echoes a gathering doomed to insignificance.
A disjointed section, a star-studded rainbow with the caress of fleeting hope,
Are broken dreams and wilted wings yearning to envelop,
A flicker of the firmament, proud in the moon's reflection, testimonies of imperfect brilliance.
You are lured by the dungeon's aroma, but it's just a dream encircled by passions to which you succumb.
Rustling through oceans of quiet, the fear of the grave keeps you from the depths,
A laugh of hypocrisy breaks through, the metaphor of a cave full of echo and re-sanctification.
Be a guide on a tour of truth, if you are a helmsman on the rivers of the soul.
When the veils of silence fall, we will find ourselves in the unsaid verb, in the long-lost vow.
If I were to expose my vulnerable breath before your pure gaze,
Would you continue to kiss my wounds, to confront the red that paints your lips?
And, at the moment when scars weave stories on our skin, will you venture forth,
To embrace my enigma for a long while, even if the fire burns and sparkles within us?
Will I still be arcane enough for you, then?
Stillness enters as silent as the bloom of a flower,
As sober as a winter night with a fine fog shower!
It secretes within just like nectar secreting noiseless,
Its sweetness is felt by hearts and minds, crystal-like! Guileless!
It is the source of strength for the mind; part of pure nature,
Law that rolls the rhythm of the psychic legislature!
It's the key to the outer truths and inner sanctity,
Everflowing stream of love springing from fraternity!
It's the leaven that transforms me and the world around me,
A global language, known to beings of the land and sea!
It's emptying self; responding to divine pulsation!
It's passionlessness born out of true renunciation!
This, like rivers, flow within when I am, with me at ease,
When I love my body and mind; worries and woes I cease!
Like an empty book, I remain open; to be written,
By the spirit of God, words that from human sense hidden!
I sleep like a child! Feel my breath, like the gentle breeze blow,
Deep within, the aura of God, like the rainbow does glow!
Stresses, strains, fatigues, pains, and anguishes like devils gone,
Faith, joy, peace, and tranquility, like fresh blossoms, are born!
O, let this stillness stay in me long, like life in fullness,
Let no forces, like hurricanes, wipe away this stillness!
Let this spread out like the fragrance of flowers everywhere,
And make the world around me a heaven of divine care!
03 November 2021
''S'' Contest, New Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
To find an island floating somewhere in the middle of the ocean shall I go following the water as it flows? In spring, as a flower with the color of scarlet, violet, or canary; in summer, mount on the cloud passing by; in autumn, drifting along a secluded inlet for a while, then as a fallen leaf, shall I go following the water as it flows and find an island floating somewhere in the middle of an ocean?
To recover a long gone lost time shall I become a moon and stars and trail the traces of ever so many bitter and sweet memories? From a remote village in a deep mountain, send my regards through a bird’s song and await the good news coming with a cricket’s chirp, and if it become that there is no story left to tell or hear any news from the other side of mountain consider it as the time to let my dear memories go, or shall I remain as a moon and the stars in the night and trail the traces of my memories to recover a long lost time?
Then, one day, a high wind rises from the nether world, in jet-black armor, mounted on a black charger holding a lance under his arm, rushes at me, and pierces and scatters the worries, anguishes, and pains that of this worthless life has had well acquainted with, with his lance and horse’s hooves, I shall stand on the top of the hill as fluttering weather-beaten shreds of banner, and when the wind falls I shall live as neither the sun, no a moon nor the stars, but without a word, the will, or the cognition, on other side of paramita* the land of eternity.
*Nirvana [Paramita]: 1. Buddhism: freedom from the endless cycle of personal reincarnations, with their consequent suffering, as a result of the extinction of individual passion, hatred, and delusion: attained by the Arhat as his goal, but postponed by the Bodhisattava. 2. Hinduism: salvation through the union of Atman with Brahma; moksha 3. a state of freedom from pain, worry, and the external world. The Random House College Dictionary. 1980. U.S.A.
So funny, that what is left these days are men in long trousers who look up to boys in shorts.
No one to break the wheel,
so they remain in circles.
They, the mid ones who are supposed to lead the young ones.
And so the world never changes,
Just the boy who wants to be a baby.
Heavy is the heart that pours these words,
Sorry are the ones hoping for something in a line of nothing .
Entrapping positions placed,
A hall of servitude,
Of ugly quagmires,
That for these bodies that once had souls,
have been made soulless in this precarious arena.
Nothing naughty nurtures a liquidity of luxury,
for everything comes with a price.
Placing bet on life's tariff was completely off the hook,
which made greatness abated because of the nuisance
caused by the new ones.
Like the woman who dwells in God's acre ululating in a public secret,
for the despicable world she bore that now burns.
What can dispel her agita?
And so, here we are, all together
as we sing our songs of lamentations and bitter anguishes of the past and dawdle today,
while contemplating on tomorrow.
Hmm! A sign of exhaustion,
From the shallow to the bobbling
From the bobbling to the shallow
why is the event on repeat?
Let the reason be because the next plan is no longer in the nest carved by one of the best among the rest who acted as guests in this wide range of test.
Detest is the taste which can't quench my thirst,
First, I need a fence to protect my chance incase It becomes tensed.
Mm! sense, not common, I known,
but in my defense, it is less than I expect,
This thing called common sense.
Hence, boys want to be men,
Men want to be boys,
So obsessed with the absence
and ignore the presence
that when the time finally comes for the switch,
they all become distanced.
Wait, cut the chase.
There is the price to cover the expenses of what they ordered for,
but all they can afford is,
Reluctance.
Sounds of spoken silence, a slight bit slippery,
Comfortable claims that ease and sing perfect songs,
Rescuing eruptive ridges embroidered in effervescent languages,
Oh, the uncomplex nature of your predictable valiance,
I’ve watched plenty of promises pretend to prosper,
While pouring perishing peace into pieces of me.
If to love you, sunken scars must bleed not bruise,
If to move you, soul must listen not speak
If we must live, what parts of us would die?
For I ache to pierce through materials manufactured by misled manipulators,
So, Before the instrument full of stain begins its calligraphy,
Mark me with the winter that hold your heart,
Tell the frost, how your limbs draw out my gravest parts,
It is your festering flaw, your voice that still anguishes me,
A sickness , for a figure driven by shame.
Inside is his MIND that's riddled full with mental illness,
Hides intellectually supreme being filled with logic, intelligence and great genius.
His sorrow is that a man, one full of mankind's afflictions, anguishes, and tears.
The subconscience keeps the burden of all the lives lived throughout many hundredstudents of thousands of years.
At his core is a centered compassion, a wisdom, a perception, and the ability of an EMPATH.
He feels the emotions of others, understanding the fullness of grace in each little wrath.
The feelings are clarified in words delivered through the LYRIC and POEMS of his blood pen.
A troubadour is within him, as is all the souls of lives he lived over and again.
Building his temple, with the tools of honesty, forgiveness, and patience that is grand.
A foundation built through pain that's strengthened with in him for his towers that will forever stand.
A conscience that gives mankind a gift of their happiness before his own.
Debilitated mind illness overpowers his decisions by emotions alone.
Contradicting bliss with meaningless aspirations with mindlessness and reasons with uselessness.
His is the pain self indulged by the mayhem that blinds then binds worthlessness.
And still his minds genius allows him to know then learn all that he touches with an ease to maintain.
For he is about the thing you fail within the contradiction of salvation.
In that place close to my heart where my soul rests like a white dove ,
I keep you .
I remember the embraces that were honest ,
And my heart soaring with something very similar to love.
A sweet passion all involved in color blue ,
Hard not to remember those scant good moments .
The anguishes shared , when we had no clue
about this life relentless in its destiny .
The locked door, the black stained window…
I remember your arms embracing me
lulling me to sleep, my own weeping willow.
Your branches extended and a terrycloth melody ,
absorbing the tears I dropped in our pillow.
Never mind the changes propelled by time
and even though not all your actions are good memories…
Our journey was the task that you never resigned,
together hand in hand confronted all our enemies .
At winter end
comes the time of lilac
pubescent shoots tipped light green
budding up and down each branch,
young growth stretching, flexing new muscles
ready and anxious to answer the call;
a gentle but large white sun
hangs low in the gray blued sky,
spring comes as it often does
every year around this time
softly waking earth
shaking loose the ice-cold winter drab
until all is new again
reborn to grow and blossom;
only time, weathered and season worn
anguishes to leave some mark;
this aging earth draws from creation itself
imagining its restart from memory
as humanity appears to remain
self-absorbed, hard-hearted and indulgent
until living in oblivion
returns to see taking in the time of lilacs,
natures bounty and beauty recharged.