Long Enacted Poems
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She placed the small embellished table
Beside the open window igniting its red glow
As the natural light poured through
Spurring witness with exquisite detail
That begged for hands to caress and touch
Its spiritually ornate expression and artful fate
For It Was
Crafted by the peasant master's hands
In the spirit of the Berbers nomadic karma
The unforgiving wood was promised by prophesy
Taken from the Thuya Tree in ancient Agidar
On the shores of Socotra in the Erythrean Sea
East of Somalia and south of Yemen
To Become the Consecration
Its facade reflected in carved mandalas
Of symmetrical symbols of absolute portrayel
Inlaid with bone spirits unearthed from the desert
And the prized gold of ancient mariners
Left behind in their exit from this unwelcome land
Found and exhumed by thieves and tribal warriors
Taken to the Alter of Prayer
Religiously enacted and crafted by the Shaman master
Revealing the story of his people's search for eternal peace
Where these hard skinned tribes of the arid land
Were the mystic travelers and nomads
Living for the consecration of their souls
To pass into the eternal bonds of heaven
Given to God
Stained with the spirit of crimson marrow
From the communal blood sap of the Dragonblood Tree
Its fire came alive and glowed with this holy passion
As the inheritance of this light of ages passed one to the other
Bequeathed without royalty and foretold to bear its keeper
The keys to the kingdom
May 20, 2020
Death did enter thro’ the gateway of Disobedience in the Garden,
A separation from the Presence of God existed ‘twixt Heaven and earth,
And it was the spiritual separation ‘twixt the One and the ones,
First pronounced with the knowledge of Good and Evil,
The dethroned first parents chased away with the stigma of sin committed,
Where the greenery of Eden then turned barren and pale.
Pain and sorrows, the forerunners of Death, scattered pandemic,
Sweats and travails thrashed ‘cross human survival,
There had been entries and exits enacted on the world’s stage,
The rich and the poor, the king and the citizens turned into dust,
And it’s the established Law indelibly carved in mystery,
And shall end with the End of the world in HIS Coming.
I was formed in a woman’s womb ‘gainst my wish,
My foetus grew within with the bond of umbilical cord,
And it fed my ‘life’ within the wall of cells,
Unawares I learnt the truth of death anytime,
Yet the aim of death was not fixed then,
For I must see the world awhile as destined by HIM.
I entered the world as a babe crawling in the arms of my mother,
She smiled at me and I smiled at her,
I cried at her and she fed me her milk,
I was a babe of joy to everyone around me,
The meaning of death was veiled unto me,
For as predestined I had to enter the world of childhood.
Unawares I learnt crawling and walking with a few utterances,
Quick flashes of Truth traversed within unawares,
Death must have aimed at me, but it missed its mark
For my time of exit had not been written in HIS Book,
My mind had been still hid with unripe knowledge,
So I dwelled in the clothes of childhood till I grew to a boy,
The spirit in my boyhood was delighted with the sprightly dance of the daffodils,
I was taken to the chamber of letters and diagrams, mixed with pranks,
I flew kites and balloons and learnt juvenile skills to scramble through,
Thorns must have pricked me with blood oozing out,
Tiny vestiges of death must have encountered me,
But unawares a shield of protection always travelled with me.
Contd
Whispers and innuendo,
Partisan politics tearing us apart,
Grandstanding and deflection,
Are we not placing the horse before the cart?
A divisive President
This much we all agree,
But our actions matter,
This surely we must see.
Impeachment is not the answer
When facts are merely ploys,
Interpreted, discarded,
Like a child’s forgotten toys.
Democrats all shouting,
Republicans dismayed,
Eye rolls and bluster,
Each entrenched not to be swayed.
Forgotten the crumbling bridges,
The misery of those without a roof,
Healthcare that’s little caring,
Policies enacted on the hoof.
Progressives on soap boxes,
Berating us to change our ways,
Ditch the cars, eat just plants
You haven’t years, but merely days.
Conservatives all hiding,
Resistance the key word,
Dig more coal, farm those parks,
Their inverted thinking so absurd.
Are we all this angry
That reason we can’t find.
Have our senses dissipated
To the point of turning blind?
What legacy our children,
A society torn apart,
Our moral compass lost,
A sail-less boat without a chart.
Is age really just a number
With no money no slumber
When birthdays were a fun
Why now I feel that I am done
For each year I used to wait
Now each year appear as bait
When kith and kin were all fam
When we all were herd of ram
When Aunt was another mom
And well enacted the rom com
When Dadu play my super spine
When he’s there for every dine
When love gets lost in labour
No kin, no trust and no favour
In chamber of thorn in all line
Where wonder i if all is fine
In drums of drama’n distance
In every heart there is a fence
A hope resides like star shine
In million miles i may get mine!
Form:
The migrant mind ingrains innate impulsive expression,
wherein my muse blossoms like the flower of passion.
The patina exudes the excitement I’ve so long preferred,
transforming it into transfixed tapestry of weaved words.
The pent-up mind spreads ingenious wings to soar high,
my muse follows the singing bird in the sapphire sky.
Floating fervent on the rhythmic ripples of rhapsody
with stream of words I cascade with moving melody.
The inspired mind creates contours of excited emotion,
as my muse sails in seamless sea of intrinsic imagination,
on the waves rolling with the rhyme of feeling quiescent,
where the cadence of the heart pulsates effervescent.
The instinctive mind drifts in river of life under rainbow,
my muse glides on senses reflecting kaleidoscopic show,
enacted enthused with the vivacious verve of yearning,
the craving creates the enthralling lyric of love alluring.
Gov'ners were jealous and zealous the satraps -
One had received uncalled-for promotion.
With design to malign, these guys enacted
a divine trap for this fella's devotions.
"Accept this new law," they said, "Except to you,
O Great King, no petitions can be uttered."
A crusade to degrade, they watched Dan's window,
As he stepped up and prayed, boldly un-shuttered.
Their wily ruse worked and while he was kneeling,
they trotted off to the king and tattled.
Daniel was content to be pent up with lions,
but King Darius spent the night rattled.
Unarmed and unharmed, Dan stayed with the beasts.
In the morning, the king raced to the hole.
The lions in a daze; sudden praise he spoke,
"I'm amazed, God has delivered you whole."
Hear futile complaints among brutal beasts;
Officials are punished with fear and trembling.
They take a fair turn in the lair as ordered
God takes care of revenge for dissembling.
(dissembling means misleading)
based on the account in Daniel 6:1-24
to accompany the painting by Briton Riviere, Daniel's Answer to the King,
it seems Daniel continues to pray to his God inside the lion's den
As the dancer elegantly performs
This oldest classical dance heritage of India
The Bharatanatyam: A Divine dance art form,
The grace and beauty of the art,
Is enhanced by movement, mime and music.
The facial expressions and gestures of the dancer,
Her footwork and the costume,
Blend together with its intricacies to create
Delicate moves of non-verbal communication,
Through this most sophisticated art,
Initially a highly spiritual dance form,
Performed in Hindu temples of South India,
Over time, moved from temples to theatres.
The dancer uses the language of gestures
When her emotions expressing various moods
Are gracefully enacted with her hands and body,
Telling a story of love and longing,
Or of a battle between good and evil,
As the musicians envelope her with
Rhythmic musical notes and tones
That set the appropriate mood for the story.
Every action of the performer of this art,
Is a form of dialogue without words
With one's own self, with the world,
And with the Universal Omniscient force that governs us,
In a process of self-exploration and self-realization.
When all these aspects unite in harmony
And as the dancer concludes her performance
A sense of peace and contentment,
And an upliftment of spiritual consciousness
Is illuminated in the minds of
Of both the dancer and the audience.
Date: 01/06/2021
Submitted for: Podium Placing Promise (5) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Note:
Bharathanatyam: This is a major form of traditional Indian classical dance, specially originated in South India. Bharatanatyam is the oldest classical dance tradition in India. The compond word 'Bharatanatyam' signifies a dance form that harmoniously expresses emotions, music, and rhythm.
SONG CREDITS :
Song : Mon Karigor
Singer : Tahsan
Lyric : Robiul Islam Jibon
Tune : Imran Mahmudul
Music : Imran Mahmudul
Album : Mon Karigor
Label : Cd Choice
Cast : Azim Uddula & Saowla
Director : Chandan Roy Chowdhury
Lyrics:
The foreshadowed clouds , wanderer within the sky
Not an easy one to tame through dispersing whisk
A faded glory wither down the colors, once held dear to heart
Once a plethora, a handful of gatherer bestowed, inner, introvert
Living through a mistaken grace
Rusty salty warm tears , a brimming trace
Genesis you said, Xanthosis, through these emotions, lingering long, worldly boom, recess
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
A painstaking lump some pain, overwhelming drowning a pour
Speechless a corridor and an ambling, nonetheless, lo and behold! None to hold accountable.
Wishful a mirror , a thousand whims
Ambivalence and a croon, tricking down the chicks of time, on lime.
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
The sand castle dream , too fragile a misfit, a shore the lively stream
Morbid a shore, enacted, plays along the indifferent acted upon, among the walks of dream
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
Simply whence it is calling to reborn in coming terrace whence autumn say
Craftsman Mr. Smith, let us halt the caravan in may
A rejuvenated dream factory will pull through the tambourine man…….
||END||
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Conclusion
So, there it is. We’ve had a little glimpse
into the human life of one straight street,
where wants and wishes wash and clash and meet
(should fans of Wimpole Street be known as “wimps”?)
We’ll leave it now. New stories have begun,
no doubt: new posturings and new charades:
will future poets pierce those flat facades,
so lightly touched by timid London sun?
Are bricks and mortar stolid, sullen, blind?
Low, soulless things, without an inner life?
Or do they share our feelings? Are they rife
with energy that lovers left behind?
Do they sustain some subtle souvenir
of all our comedies, enacted here?
In case you haven't noticed I'm a poet verbal usage explosive,
Wrote it to show I'm potent while showing I'm still unfolding,
With words I manage verbs the action within observed,
Then swerves I'm pitching curves a gentleman well reserved,
I'm classic because I practice my passion bring satisfaction,
Imagine the acrobatics of circumstances enacted,
On paper with just a pen meditate then begin,
Fusing my thoughts within with music inhaling scents,
Of candle lit cinnamon my ritual so intimate,
With cleverness I invent miraculous I'm convinced,
My poetry heaven-sent please pardon my arrogance,
Cause I was afraid to win but mentally made amends,
To never be scared again and grow from the commentary,
Some cats will always hate a lesson from Tom and Jerry,
My poetry animated a visualized brand I made it,
Never contaminated passing examinations,
With all honor and glory unto the Lord that's before me,
And all poets with stories I pray you make it cause surely,
It's hard to write a verse that quenches the people's thirst,
Hoping your equals nurse the love you reimbursed,
From being a fan first to writing your best-worse,
Creation is adverse with patience the craft works,
So please acknowledge this in the presence of politics,
Engaging your common sense to a poet this dominant,
With word play in rhythm observe Hey I'm winning!,
Concur they beginning to merge grace within him.
Thanks.