Long Narrates Poems
Long Narrates Poems. Below are the most popular long Narrates by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Narrates poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon her last sighs, she narrates cosmic
sagas flowing within poetic veins.
She still remembers
those idyllic evenings,
engrossed in raining confessions,
influenced by her shipwrecked heart,
expressing scarlet
sentiments that sail in silence,
across unruffled ink-stained waves,
amidst the endless oceans between
their untouched silhouettes.
Her every desire to reunite and
cast away midnight blues,
float within perfumed love notes
written by the silky seashore,
placed in crystalline bottles
of timeless lyrics,
that shall be carried through
estuaries that lead her
to his sacred island
with everlasting roses~
where pearlized shells reflect
saline left as tropical memories
of tomorrow with him by
her sun-kissed innocence.
The Lonely Heart
The silence in the room
The darkness of the night
I look through the crack on the door
Wondering when you'll switch on the light
My eyes grow tired, My hopes fade away
Still holding onto false hope
You may call me tonight
Days, weeks months and years
My heart feels heavy now
My eyes filled with tears
You treat me good, it's not all bad
But why do my insides feel empty and sad
Just living this life as the world narrates
But never did I think
We'll have a wall between us that keeps us separate
Under the same roof, Sleeping apart
Good night my love from this Ionely heart.
Many thousands of years ago, a group of wise men
found a star in the night-sky,
they knew it was a special star
in which written is their destination and their fate,
which finally directed them to their saviour.
Night-sky, an enigmatic experience,
surrounds me in an inexplicable obscure divinity of a celestial power.
I gaze at the darkness, a boundless indecipherable canopy over the universe,
with thousands of glittering stars, blinking in a vast puzzling sphere.
All my deepest thoughts, all my inward reflections
surround the mysterious constellation,
where I see one marvellous star...the purest one!
Some days, this mythical star descends to the earth
when I feel the unbearable grief of loneliness,
and it sings a sublime lullaby of far-away water-falls
streaming down the coral rocks ~
and I feel peaceful and serene as I never felt before.
My star “Ashwin”, to me, the brightest star in the constellation,
narrates all the incredible stories in the history of mankind -
of saints and warriors, of philosophers and poets,
of brave men and women and their fights through eternity -
of Joan of Arc, of Rani Lakshmibai, of Aristotle and Buddha,
of Kalidasa and Homer.
Inspires to heal the world undergoing incredible sufferings,
with the magical power it has instilled in human beings,
when my heart bleeds...with passions and longings,
love and heartbreak, sorrows and griefs,
there’s my star ~ gleaming and sparkling ~
embodying all my dreams and desires -
reminding the inevitability of separation and sadness in our life -
To me, the message written in the stars -
death is inevitable, but not the end.
Tonight I can write the saddest poem.
I can write that the heavens are sad that's why the stars are dark,
Or the heavens are heartbroken that's why the rain is red.
Tonight I can fall in love
If you can convince me that I am worth loving
Regardless of the fact that I am a toxic infection.
Tonight I can write the saddest poem with tears on my fingers
And a heart broken pen
That narrates how I feel dejected and rejected.
Tonight I can be a grateful man.
I can thank you for showing me that it does not matter
How true you feel or how hard you fall.
Tonight I can thank you for being a great teacher;
For teaching me how to burn hearts on a pyre and flush away true love.
And above all, for giving me a reason to never love a human.
Tonight I can write lines like,
Love and reciprocity do not exist in the world of humans;
And only God can love you unconditionally.
Tonight I can speak to the moon
If you call me by my name and tell me you love me,
Even if you are lying.
Tonight I can write the saddest poem.
I can write about my feelings for you
And they would be the saddest you ever knew.
Tonight i can tell a story of how
You dream of storybooks and mythical creatures
And of how your eyes when into mine pierce they declare desire.
I can write a poem with lines like,
Your love for me is bigfoot and unicorns;
Nonexistent!
Tonight I can write the saddest poem.
I can write lines to jerk your tears when they tell
How it is so hot that I miss your cold shoulder.
I am quickly replacing memories of you;
I wrote down whatever I had left of that love
And folded it into a paper plane.
Only tonight will I take time to wish you would rest in peace,
For tomorrow you will be a bad dream
That I woke up from and already forgotten.
Ace of Spades
Fate’s Footfalls
Fatima climbed up the spiral Minaret’s stairwell a
case of mathematical precision a fountain of courage
One step at a time with geometric accuracy she
counted the odds and the even the skewed surface of life
Prime location primordial instinct as she stopped
a prime number of paces arresting her timid ascent
All her life she had wanted to be a muezzin an equal
opportunity seeker of the one God that had not forsaken her
From top of her lungs at the spike of towering doubt she called
resolved to throw down her veil and the gauntlet into the fold
A haunted expression portrayed a colonized mind but the
shackles fell Galilei ready to ensure flight or redemption
An ultimate breath away from salvation she slipped on a marvel
rolled the sole and her beautiful soul on a bright mindful marble
One foot dangling in the sky but the other fell through the floor
encased her survival draped in the name of fate’s liberation
Tense in suspension balanced however she aligned her palms
upside down and the horizon of destiny reassembled her faith
Fatima’s story lives on as the legend narrates the meaning of trust
beyond questions now that she honestly knows the parapets’ calling
06th March 2018 written for contest Fate’s Footfall
On a boat hidden and unseen,
I glide with the current of the river called life.
The wind on the raised sail whispers,
how brave sailors cross the storm surge,
narrates the fascinating story of the land far,
the river hasn’t seen.
I drift past faceless people on the bank,
some songbirds I adore fly with me.
The river promises to take me to the sea,
where the waves roll with pearly crown,
sunburst sky sprays the charisma of colors,
fabricating the collage of surreal fresco.
The river keeps its promise, takes me to the sea,
I sail on the rhythm of its silky swells,
drift across the sapphire stretch of seven seas,
beyond which there will be no sea to cross.
Maybe I will meet someone there to tell me,
why the ancient mariner made this journey.
__________________
July 26, 2022
Contest : Sailing
Sponsored by : Julia Ward
When that time comes and the reaper sows
the trap door’ hinges open up a hopeful gap
music from the underworld entices grace
with one ultimate decisive stride in lockstep
of Self vagaries union and agonizing pleas
A wise man carefully narrates his memories
an opus eulogy fat volume or a single word
carved out from promise of never-ending love
his memoir about to fade when ink has dried
a hero’s last whisper on parched paper byes
The scythe man took his time as if to tease
out a last drop of conscience from the soul
lying beyond mind reason feeling final call
a clean rapid death is all he dares to request
in quest for a few quiet moments in repose
What’s left behind is nothing like the journey
full steam ahead into an unknown new realm
a ply-board coffin and rose petals on the grave
unless he wished for ashes scattered into wind
once the kiss of life draws its ultimate breath
08th April 2021
Lord Vishnu once blasé of the same old scene,
Far too tame with His heavenly ease,
Felt for a change from ‘oh been there and seen’,
For one that exhilarates with fragrant breeze.
Arbudanchal My Lord, sage Narad said,
His constant devotee, seer versatile,
The hilly spot soothes any tired head,
And waiting ‘tis to welcome you with smile.
But how would I find this new paradise?
Look for a place bursting with spring flowers,
Naught whatso like it anywhere else lies,
Rich air wafts bliss from blossoming bowers.
No one can miss that golden yellow hue,
Aroma so rare on Earth’s floral world,
And a long spring’s about to be unfurled,
Once you reach there you'll need no other clue.
And ye can't miss those trees towering tall,
Glossy green leaves and ethereal fragrance,
Nor miss hills’ pyramid-like sloping wall,
Once there, enough is just one single glance.
…….
Yea, not long back it was, in fairer times
When earth nigh but rivalled the paradise,
Old Arbudanchal, what immortal climes!
Time when air was filled with life, man was wise.
Today the green is struggling to grow,
Hills bulldozed bare, brazen bald by progress,
Bare little’s left now old glory to show,
Save manicured greens garbed with tailored dress!
And still enough hints of the old glory,
Hope, it’d one day trace back times so hoary.
Alas, we’re left with only thinning hope,
How long would Nature give men longer rope?
______________________________________________________
Arbudanchal: The present day hill station called Mt. Abu in Rajasthan. I was there for ten days in late April to explore once gain its beauty after a long time of thirty years. The difference I found was stark. This piece narrates how this place had been the envy even of ones like abode of Vishnu.
Reminiscing | 04.06.2008 | narrative
One-liner
of doom...
"I'm leaving you"
Mercy!
The poor fellow
must've died
a thousand deaths
right then...
"Whack! Whack! Whack!"
goes an axe
straight through
his confused heart.
Ouch!
A devastating impact.
Numb to the bone
as he stands,
directly facing her,
in arrested astonishment;
listening...
as she narrates
the end
of everything.
Too numb
to utter so much as
a word.
He stands there
as if
frozen in time,
growing...
increasingly deaf
with disbelief;
too stunned
to plead...
"Baby, please, don't do this!"
Or cry out
an anguished "Now, wait a minute!"
On her breath,
the fetid stench of death;
d e a t h
of gargantuan dreams
dreamt together.
Their panorama
of bright tomorrows
suddenly look
blacker than charcoal.
He listens
as she's speaking
but doesn't comprehend
the words
forking into him
like flashes of lightning.
Hopelessly lost in
"How did it come to this?"
A sucker-punch
that landed
with speed so blinding
he couldn't see it!
Unbearable pain
that writes itself
across his crimson face
His defeated spirit,
a bark of a tree
withstanding blows
from an axe.
A bunch of entrails.
I like strawberry milk in a cute bottle.
I was one or many more of those things.
Empty as a shipping container.
A butternut squash which I only eat in the fall.
Only knowing fall things.
Fall hair, and breath.
Nothing will be endless again.
A bunch of entrails.
It’s not Halloween, I’m just myself in there.
Eyeballs and bones.
Should just be one pair of eyes, but it’s many.
I am a person who they found on the dock.
The shipping container had a trace of blood on it.
Not from a paper cut.
So they believed.
Who am I again?
Just someone who narrates.
Has more bones and eyes than they know of.
And yet, they think I’m many.
You can’t open a shipping container without a crowbar.
So they did.
They did it because they knew things.
They found out quickly.
Who I am.
I am the one who likes random things that are stuck like sticky notes.
Who I am.
Every suspect and family member explains.
Who I am.
Again.