Long Lovelorn Poems
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Gonna pull you off that pedestal
the one I built of
tough oak and ten penny nails
still standing,
deep in my heart.
Never asked for this broken consolation prize
all angels in heaven,
and my sisters, chastise.
Always hoped you'd be okay, important to say,
you've done well,
you chose so well..
in him.
Still smarts, a memory that saw me red-faced,
your lost suitor, lovelorn less or more,
yet you never made fun,
I've always wondered
why.
Still review life like a film, hope ya don't mind..
stuck in rewind,
all these years on..
why'd you ever let me get
so close?
Happy for second place, or maybe third,
this piece of my life, and yours
just to be in a heart's running,
gold, silver, or bronze
was once,
such a lovely race.
While we are still breathing
and the sun's shining bright,
Give Thou, Lord, to each
What he has not:
To the tyrant give a heart
To the Charlatan a truer task
To the sinner offer penitence
To the priest, salvation ...
and don't forget Yours truly.
While the earth is still turning, Lord,
And the wind sweeps its surface,
Give wisdom to the martyr
To the warmonger, peace
To the oppressed give justice
To the lovelorn, forbearance ...
and don't forget Yours truly.
While there's still time enough, Lord,
And the blazing sun is looming low,
To the wealthiest give happiness
To the wretched, hope
Give to the gigolo a wife
And to the married, respite ...
and don't forget Yours truly.
From neon lights
to hearth-side gleam,
From spotlight to starlight,
From the hustle and bustle of life
to rest and dream,
From the din of the day
to things quiet,
Give Thou, Lord, to each
a little at a time
what he has not ...
and don't forget Yours truly.
~Any Poem contest by Broken Wings.
A routine annual clean up
at the start of the New Year!
Among heaps of used up papers
and broken knick- knacks-
in the contents of her shelf’s drawer,
lay a photograph,
old and musty.
Memories rushed back as waves onto the shore.
She had kept it as a keepsake,
when love was raging through her veins!
A face that she wished to see all through her life,
now a bitter sweet reminder of joy and pain.
Through the years, what all changes
and how their love had faded out of memory.
Suddenly,
all too suddenly,
from the charred bones
of a died down funeral pyre,
resurrected someone,
with lovelorn eyes
bursting the bandage of time.
His sad eyes, rivetted at her.
She saw the smile fading out from his face.
Her eyes went dim with tears.
In the blurred image, she saw her past.
A torn leaf from life's chronicle.
A story she had hidden from everyone.
She felt the ground slipping under her feet
Blood and serum oozed out
and once more
she became,
a festering wound!!
Time may put an ache to sleep,
but anytime it may wake up and peep!
No dear, not for your sympathies to earn,
Nor yet that your attention can I draw,
Just as helpless infants are apt to do,
True, facing you helpless I’ve often felt.
Tears cause in me no butterflies of love,
Nor trigger love-bonds flowing well within,
Should ye so wish, check chemicules therein,
Check enzymes and lipids if so to prove,
Or if electrolytes are duly dealt,
Tears of emotion show more protein too,
Making them viscose more, on skin to claw,
No, tears are not shed by me— one lovelorn.
Nor yet my dear, crocodile tears are shed,
Oh, just so that my dry eyes moist are made.
________________________________________
Chemicules: short for chemical molecules
A man cries the night before, and his wife wants to know why. After ruling out all her false conjectures as to why he cried, he gives the true reason: He suffered from glaucoma, and his eyes tended to weaken more due to dryness. And he tries crying sometimes to moisturize his eyes.
This sonnet might appear rhyme-less on a casual look. But it has a mirror-like symmetry— the first six lines rhyme with the next six, followed by a Volta in the form of a couplet.
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Sonnets (Humour) | 20.03.2017 |
the sky resonates
with what’s written in the silk of stars,
in pulse-burned pensiveness,
penned in poignancy,
personifying pain
with yellow-gold dust,
where lament liquefies and softens
into an ethereal lake,
chronicling it with surging blue sparks ~
an evening elixir, enveloped
in confetti cravings…
this l o v e knows not
the ingredients of
ephemeral effervescence,
as the thriving tip of twilight
manifests the magic of want,
whilst I tremble,
engrossed in the thought
of moon-flame touch,
brimming,
brewing,
breathing
across cups of catharsis,
concocted with caffeinated calmness ~
aligning the inner innocence
still longing in loneliness,
amidst seated strangers
lost in their own appetizing lyrics,
clothed in cold cobalt colors,
unaware of the emptiness
they feed their mindless muse
from superficial spoons
filled with smoke and silence ~
like scattered illusions,
illustrated with surreal ink…
what if I hold onto forever fallacies
hiding within?
would I be promised
a peaceful plate of patience
beneath ineffable iridescence ~
for I’ve feverishly struggled
to rephrase the verdicts behind
faces phasing in the haze of life,
sipping sorrow
as if it were mocha ~
balmy, bittersweet,
burning in sync with my
Swarovski crescent crooning
lullabies to diamonds dancing
in infinite nebulae,
carrying secrets the table holds,
served in sincere oblivion…
and I am still learning and healing
the soul’s breaking lines,
to leave lovelorn reveries
without losing the light of lucidity,
letting go of their narrow narrative
of me and my ache ~
of us and our heat,
as even the routined routes
could not erase what’s
handwritten in a heart made heavy…
so wait not for the
rise of supernova sanguinity ~
I am not the warmth of woven woes.
I am a charismatic chameleon,
~ c o m p l e x ~ cautious ~
catching comet-notes,
camouflaged in melancholic versions
of humankind,
hiding vulnerability
within firm flares of vivid vibrations…
O beloved night,
on this terrace, I devour, not alone,
but evermore lonely,
i m m e r s e d
in the forlorn frequency
of stellar fire…
“What Does It Take to Win Your Love for Me?”
A golden oldie’s lyrics—soulful, sad—
blend with my thoughts on love I thought we had,
but I saw only what I wished to see.
(Jr. Walker and the All Stars, 1969)
The brokenhearted~~what becomes of them?
They’ve lost their happiness and peace of mind.
They trudge through each day, praying they will find
true love. Till then their outlook will be dim.
(“What Becomes of the Brokenhearted,” Jimmy Ruffin, 1966)
To “Everybody Plays the Fool Some Time,”
I think of how good-byes can be quite cruel.
A special skill not taught at any school
is how to find a love sure and sublime.
(by the Main Ingredient, 1972)
“Love Hurts”~~words aptly chosen and so strong.
When romance fails, hearts break and hot tears flow
like nonstop rain. Recovery is slow.
The lyrics resonate on nights so long.
(“Love Hurts,” Everly Brothers, 1960; Nazareth, 1975)
“It’s Gonna Take Some Time” I’m hearing now.
Perhaps, when I’ve recovered from this pain,
I’ll find my search for love was not in vain.
Then loneliness will take its final bow.
(by the Carpenters, 1972)
The Grass Roots’ lyrics in a sixties song
say “love is gonna get” me. I’ll just wait
and see. Perhaps confessions of a date
with romance might be real before too long!
(“Sooner or Later,” 1971; “Midnight Confessions,” 1968)
Whisper calmly...calling the wind,
air stirring as nature grinned.
Leaves start falling from the trees,
fertilizing flowers for the bees.
Whisper softly...love loving love,
the sweet coo of the turtledove.
All those hearing that beckoning call
will find their roost before nightfall.
Whisper kindly...to those newborn,
who now giggle for the lovelorn.
Who experience joy and happiness
as they spread the word of gladness.
Whisper gently...for all that love,
the baby's mother looks above,
as each gave thanks to another
our world dreams of the word brother.
Whisper simply...we were given life
and man's treasure is a loving wife.
The price we pay is to raise our own...
love and happiness are the keystone.
A prelude to a prompt quick-fire affair,
Nor ever lovelorn heart's innocent heist,
Routine good manners nor eyeful flutter,
Frisson nor frown furrowed, though deemed fairest,
A harmless hailing from the male of sex,
Nor yet the fair sex warmly acknowledging
In a casual way that tends to relax,
Whatso… all show a dearth of good old flirting.
Perhaps people are no more ruled by heart,
Maybe, their sex simmers much more in head,
Or male mystique has turned into tame art,
Gallantry’s nigh but gone, chivalry’s dead.
Seems, Venus shines dim in the evening stars,
And lost has its ruddy red, warring Mars.
______________________________________________
Sonnets | 06.10.2011 |
Poet’s note: The art of good old flirting it seems has gone almost dead. The traditional male etiquette, chivalry, and gallantry survive today only in novels of ere. An average young man has turned timid to make even an eye contact, perhaps for the fear of being charged for sexual harassment or for sheer personal embarrassment. So much as even a harmless appreciative compliment has dried down in civil society. Even in India, the land of nymphs, apsaras, naayikas, and dasis, flirting as a fine art has got all but frozen. In a somewhat humorous tone, this sonnet explores why. The answer is ventured in the Volta voicing from the 9th line.
The Poetry I so intensely write
Is not only in black and white
There are some shades of gray,
Booby traps and a crooked way.
It's a door to my heart
A window to my mind
A passageway to my soul
A back alley to my dreams.
You are forewarned if I say,
Tread so lightly, if you may,
through this maze with care
fraught with the peril of a snare.
My lovelorn heart is clean
My soul scrubbed to a sheen,
It's my mind you must pay heed
In its sinister design lest it succeed.
Surely it will lead you astray
Down a damned and slippery way
To a point of no return, beware,
Woe betide anyone who dare!
In the apathetic chest of grass
The open intercourse of autumn dew
Opening wings, the bees fly
With the beats of Rabindra Sangeet
Without moon in the neon lights
Fireflies sacrifice themselves happily
In the durable voices of Sarod
Say- Farewell marriage mortification!
Dull, silent torture cloister-
This mental disagreed matrimonial!
But let not be forbidden – the love,
Inamorata's smile, constant staring,
Let not be forbidden - the departure of the lover
And always happy memories of the old days
Yes, let be forbidden – noose of a lovelorn lover,
Loving moonlit tryst and the smiling of pity
-18.11.2020 Chittagong