Long Get lost Poems
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No way to dodge fiat decreeing death sentence
for this rambling man
cheesy alias con commit tented mouse élan
Who felt unready to kick the can
On account of violating ban
Against abominable illegal mandate
With no way to commute death sentence
For the simple act of voicing opinion
against exist of heavenly gate
Of hellish underworld
despite religious opiate decreeing penance
Spurious pedagogical poetic rant
dialed up x telephonic times
Not the ravings of some half mad lunatic
Carefully plotted recitation
that springs from combined teachings of Kant
And jolly old Saint Nick
Charges trumped up per this average trump petting don
Purportedly blaspheming judeo-christian paradigm
Upending blind faith equated with hill of beans upon
Which dogma erected epitomized
by complex edifices via grime
Sweat and tears from slave labor
where usurpation of freedom won
Until outspoken spokes persons risked life and limb
To invalidate the existence
of supreme deity who created life
Whether for extra credit or perhaps on a whim
Adam from whose rib cage
without anesthesia but razor sharp knife
Sported eve with a physique quite pleasing and trim
But rather than get lost in the Garden of Eden myth
Final seconds of existence tick away
Without intent to recant statements
?
solely acceptable to b’ni brith
Prompting last words of mine as oye vay
With no regrets - deeming heart of religion flimsy as pith
Thing in the wind or house of cards
vulnerable to blow away!
In the silence of the evening, when thoughts intertwine like smoke rising to the starry sky,
I wonder if I ever truly understood how love works,
I've always been concerned with the things close to you, those little universes that make you happy,
The things that matter to you, like constellations in the uncharted map of your soul.
But often I wonder how love is lived, is it a spectacle to be performed,
Or a state of being, a silent melody flowing through veins and open hearts?
Should I "make" love, like an art sculpted in time and space,
Or just exist within it, like a dreamer carried by its endless waves?
Maybe I wasn't trying to impress you, but just to protect all that you hold dear,
But I wonder, is that love, or just the fear of losing the light you carry?
In my attempt to keep intact the universe that brings you happiness, I often get lost,
Wondering if it's love or just fear dressed in the clothes of care.
So, in the quiet of the night, I turn to the stars, trying to find answers,
Understanding that maybe love isn't something to be fully understood, but simply lived,
A journey through unknown realms, where with each step I learn to be,
To feel, to open myself to that mystery of existence that binds us in silence.
Depression
When you lose your inner light
and intensifies the ongoing fight,
Days and nights seem to merge,
Emotional outburst is at its verge,
In absolute darkness you get lost,
solitude takes over, the ultimate ghost,
Missing few beats, the subtle heart sobs,
tears of sorrow fail to nurture throbs,
Successive thoughts pull you down,
whirlpool that ensures you drown,
Logic of life, death and suicide,
end to all grief, desires and pride !
Written August 6th, 2015
For contest "Mental illness" by Nathan D
Inspired by emotions shared by a young patient in twenties who went into depression as his beloved wife died.
Now entered for contest "Any poem trashed in a recent contest" by Broken wings
If you have never felt the lure of the desert,
you cannot understand why people like me
prefer to be surrounded by sandy dunes.
An inexplicable lure, that acts like a drug.....
Until I was kidnapped by four senile Bedouins.
There was nothing senile about their guns.
Courteously I was led into their tent
built near a small oasis. I was fed, sort of.
And then the entertainment began.
From behind the curtains, someone strummed
a melody of eastern music, eerie and mysterious,
but still unpleasant to my ears.
Two men performed a sword dance.
Then a lovely female dancer took the stage.
In the dim light, the air was smoky with hookahs,
she stood in the middle of the tent,
The music climbed slowly in a crescendo,
her dance matched the rhythm, slow to fast.
I wonder why she did not interest me.
I was more concerned about the weapons
Aimed idly at me. Someone handed me a drink,
like nectar. I drank and drank and drank.
The end came, abruptly.
I woke up groggily,
and was sent to the nearest town.
The senile Bedouin smiled:
"The desert has its beauty, my friend.
But be careful. You can get lost."
Still, the lure of the desert will always beckon.
NOTE: Sorry that in
spite of my best 3-4
attempts the
Poetry lines are
breaking while
placing the Poem. I
have
no idea why it is
happening every time
I delete and repost
the poem.
Ravindra K Kapoor
11th Aug. 2014
The Love Story of
Kacha And Devayani
Devayani
Stanza 16 continues
And behind those Sarkanda* furs,
We often used to get lost ,
In watching the endless mounts,
Of silver sands,
Shinning in the love drops of Moon,
With the patches,
Of white dancing furs,
Scattered here and there,
On them,
In those intoxicating Moonlights,
They all seems to be dancing,
On the rhythmic flow,
Of the fast blowing winds. 16
And do you remember Kacha,
How often you,
Used to tell me,
That those fur plants,
Appears to be inviting us,
To go to them,
To join,
In their splendid Moonlight Dance,
To become one with them. 17
Watching that shining silver sands,
Of the calm and cool moonlights,
And charmed by the sleeping beauty,
Of Mother Nature,
And its creatures,
Can you recollect,
Those melody moments,
Which comes very seldom,
In our life time.18
The echoes of those melodies,
In your soothing voice,
Still haunts me,
Whenever the images,
Of our togetherness,
Flashes in any corner,
Of my mind and heart,
And now when you want,
To leave this place,
Forever,
Can you tell,
Why it is happening with me,
And not with you,
Dear Kacha. 19
Kacha
Those beautiful moments,
Are the greatest treasure,
Of my sweet stay with you,
Dear Devayani,
And such splendid moments,
Always live and bloom in our,
Mind and heart,
To give us the same joy and pleasure,
When we cannot
create them. 20
It is almost impossible,
To recreate such,
Splendid and lofty moments, Devayani,
They come and go,
Like the changing seasons,
As life keep moving,
With the change of time,
Even when they come again,
It is not the same,
What you have imprinted,
On the canvas,
Of your mind and heart. 21
Ravindra
Kanpur India 11th Aug. 2014
To continue in next
……
Protected under the
Copyright provisions
of Poetry Soup.
Ravindra K Kapoor
NOTE : To know the
background of this
story please read
Part 1.
* Sarkanda - Munj
Sweetcane
The Secret
Somewhere someplace not far away a couple lied together.
No talk about the future no talk about forever.
They had lovers of their own their lovers were not there.
It's best if kept a secret the love that they would share.
Lost in loves great passion covered in each others sweat.
They're going to have a baby but they don't know it yet.
In nine months the baby born a secret softly cries.
So much still for him to learn of life conceived in lies.
Often he just played alone it seemed it was his way.
Then one day the secret was sent outside to play.
He grew strong like others did he gave it all his best.
Without one clue he never knew the truth beat in his chest.
Overwhelmed again and again the sadness he can't shake.
The devil whispered in his ear “You are a mistake”.
Still he tried through tears he cried to somehow rise above.
Getting lost time and again in his search for love.
When the walls came crashing down his whole world fell apart.
Welcome to the world of secrets and to your broken heart.
Shattered like a piece of glass his dreams fell to the ground.
Somewhere up near heaven even angels heard the sound.
Tears poured from his heart and soul through both day and night.
Searching for some healing in words that he would write.
Broken in so many ways all he meant for good.
Forever somehow secret where some misunderstood.
Now he walks in shadows seeking shelter from the rain.
Don't you dare look in his eyes you'll get lost inside his pain.
Like the secret long ago he spends his time alone.
It seems being by himself is now his comfort zone.
Asking nothing from no one wanting only just to give.
The only dream he still dreams is live and just let live.
A million miles on his heart and tears that he still cries.
So it is for secrets and those conceived in lies.
Edwin C Hofert
Flakes fly around— of old wishes,
Unfulfilled and still far from dead,
Borne by age-old rickety bed,
Burdens of old dreams still anguish.
In teeming tamas, a lone head,
Old wishes free from a long leash,
Long-bottled perfume un-faded,
Its scent ye dare not distinguish.
Yet, persisting no less to please,
But squeezed, spreading its olden dread,
Much chewed story of mankind ‘tis,
Covered with dust if, be dusted.
Beware, not to have not so wish
No less lethal a wish it is.
____________________________________
Tamas means darkness.
Sonnets | 05.11.2022| wishes, desires
Poet’s note: In the bottle of perfume of life we keep filling the fragrance of our wishes and desires. We know this bottle is going to break one day and its perfume will get lost, but deluded, we feel otherwise. These winds of wishes continue to waft all life. And the bottle really breaks one day as expected, but its fragrance remains captive in heart. We like to experience it in a few happy dreams. If one or two such dreams have knocked at our door, its pleasant notes remain an enduring music of life. We carry forward these notes of melodies even after death. Why, even new birth be the outcome of the flying flakes of unfulfilled wishes. This sonnet muses on this theme.
Stargate is a gate; it allows us to move through time and space.
Stargate is fun, it allows us to move around but in spirit form.
Like a particle moves about, it moves like a flow of oxygen.
It has no weight; it carries no luggage it just moves around quick like the sun.
It only takes its thoughts around; it carries information to the chosen place and time.
Stargate is a secret gate, only few find and only few are allowed to use.
Like the gate God told us about few find the gate of life, many get lost on the road home to heaven.
So, pray, stay on the road of love and light, remember you only take with you the things you did in this life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Minuette flew over cobblestones much faster than herself, moving swifter than her thoughts could carry her, to reach their obvious conclusions up ahead. Metal cleated tap shoes made an awful racket racing through the labyrinthine of alleyways. Sidewalks drew too much attention to themselves with the noise and did not add to the solution she was looking for.
No one must see her at this hour as she travels down the streets. Her dark green dress lifted in the wind, just above her ankles, like a mask on open oceans as she sailed in it. A hint of pure white skirt was barely visible in the dim light. It was night. No. It was day. No. It must be afternoon. No. There is too much dark. It was daytime. I'm sure of that. The sun is simply hidden by the clouds as fog rolls in.
Was it the library or the café that made her frantic? Longberry is illusive, an easy place to get lost in, along with memories which plays odd tricks that come back to her in circles.
She was heading in the wrong direction. Minuette must pivot on the moment to rectify that and so desired to run faster than her feet could take her, backtracking from her origins. Time was running up behind her. There remained significant ground to cover and to master in mere seconds.
Archeologists must also eat. She was famished. The café will have to wait. Her mind is dead set on the library, which had by coincidence just opened up before her sleepy eyes. It is more important to feed her head. New books on rocks had just arrived. She was happy and dove right in to read each one, each savory line.
A crusty old man sat next to her for conversation. He will remain anonymous for the time being. There are many reasons why but moving right along and not to place such a fine point on the matter; she caught her breath somewhere between his bad breath and a smile and the color red, which welled up inside of her like fire.
An angry index finger came up to touch her cherry lips which parted with a simple "Shh." "We are in the library." She signaled to him to gaze upon the SILENCE sign, prominently on display, Pointed at it confidently to add to his enlightenment. Such evidence was hoped to change his behavior and his manners. Enlightenment was not his claim to fame. Not much could be done to change his odor either.
We are children born of a nation in the midst of great change. The pains of labor sweeps our country with pangs of fear and uncertainty of an unknown future we find ourselves faced with.
Do we go blindly into this new age? With all this information and data we have at our finger tips, we still step blindly into tomorrow. We fight to hold on to values of yesterday because to us, they are a known, therefore a comfort. Take the known path. Never get lost, never see new things. Blaze a trail, so much to see to learn. Tomorrow is a new trail to be blazed. Maybe, just maybe, all it requires is a simple leap of faith. Step blindly into the unknown, let your faith be your guide.