Long Ripped off Poems
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My mind fluttered its wings for its journey
towards spirituality at my adolescence,
as childhood was just study and play
while daily morning prayers a dull ritual.
In my teen, I used to wonder
about attachments towards relations,
the angst of separation when they leave and go,
the pain of parting made me ponder
'why do I feel pangs of despair,
that feeling oftentimes of being ripped off?'.
Reasoning for realization of self must have
started at this point when my mind
first fledged for its flight towards faith.
Yet, my prayers to God at that time
were more customary and insincere.
To be honest, I was not honest,
and when I closed my eyes to pray,
like a pendulum clock - my mind oscillated!.
My mind wavered for reasons many:
giving too much love to my loved ones
for, I had too much love to give,
expecting them all to reciprocate it,
when it actually Never happened Ever,
Or a situation that led to parting with them
Continued to haunt my tender heart.
Thoughts matured too, as mind matured,
in my twenties when I happened to
decipher the verses of 'The Gita'
which is my holy religious book,
through which I came to realize:
'To be detached with loved ones
by being attached is a way to
control and realize one's own self.'
Though I have not mastered the verses of 'The Gita',
the message of the book does shine
and reflect in my mind crystal clear.
I trust 'The Omnipotent Power' above us,
that guides and loves us all impartially.
Through the light of my life's experiences
and the light that guides me from within
my spiritual journey continues.....
Date: 03/25/2021
Submitted for: A Meaningful Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Originally Written Date: 01/10/2021
For 'My Spiritual Journey' Contest
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
My people, good people bad people
Try them, have a taste,
How do you like the sweet aloe Vera?
My people are black, dark
Not that it bothers me but
It might explain the odd comportment
My people have black hearts, rotting
From stabs of lovers, or so conjured
Woe unto the young, they drink from this culture
My people have choices, confusing
Do they want you? Maybe, Yes, No
Yet like a dog owner, drag you along
My people are deaf, blind deaf
“He is your brother not mpamba”
Come tomorrow, his bones ripped off of fresh
My people have a habit, bad manners
They hate their black genes
And taint them in breaches
My people have issues, unending
Every single move that you make
Is treated with moot authenticity
My people have complaints, annoying
They want to be great yet sit before televisions
And blame God their father; “why not us?”
My people are weird, absurd
They make laws imposed on others
While they break without hesitation
My people are strange, I love them
These sons and daughters of black kings
It’s not death that I wish on them, they are my people.
I slowly trusted you…
I shared the depths of my heart and soul with you…
You allowed me to attach to you …
Like a newborn fawn…to it’s mother…
I drank deeply from your heart of love, tenderness, gentleness, kindness and acceptance…
You covered me with a blanket of grace after the shame of my childhood…
I swam in the pools of your sea moss eyes…
I delighted in the deep desires you awakened in me…
I shared the depth of my struggles with you...
And then when my pain and chaos of longing was too much…
I attempted to snuff out the candle…
The candle in the wind would not be blown out…
Left in the shadow…was the pain of awakening to life again…
But you were gone…you abandoned me…you blamed me…you labeled me…you betrayed me…
The blanket of grace was ripped off my naked body…and replaced with shame and pain of loss….
My mental health was not your concern …you traded your heart of love for a heart of fear…
You did not know me…you did not love me….you died…
My ideal love is a love that catches me by surprise.
The realization of intelligent things and conversations that literally take us anywhere.
My ideal love is a love that expresses ideal.
The ramifications that influence us to be who we really are in front of who we are.
A love that doesn't mind bargin shopping and putting together hundred dollar outfits that really cost $10.
The reality that its the most simplest of things that are most significant.
A spontaneous love that doesn't mind the predictability of living today before exploring the mystery of tomorrow.
Here after the after thought that we exist in the past as well as the present simultaneously.
If ever in need I'll do my best to provide all that I can for an ideal love.
Through these actions I believe the true miracle is achieved.
An ideal love that is beyond ideal.
Who sets the where and how we meet, the institutions of bliss where the masses are limited to love and longing.
To find patience and compassion sitting on the front lawn on the same institution.
As long as she provides a kiss that can send me outside of my own thoughts, and pull me closer to hers.
My ideal love wouldn't be based on a B.E.T movie.
A single expression that summarizes a scorned woman letting go.
A cliff note of lust soon as the next sceen fades to black.
Her panties pulled down not knowing the dude is secretly abusive.
140 minutes gone by to realize the last 5 mins were the ones that made her truly happy.
The woes of love.
My ideal love is a woman built with ambition but with a heart big enough to understand that without sacrifice nothing is truly accomplished.
A culture made in truth, ripped off by those who ignore that struggle is what makes us who we are.
The courage to walk out in front and be who we really are.
A real woman that doesn't mind lounging around the house that knows whom Budda and Huey Newton was.
This revolution of ideal starts the moment I realize that I never stood a chance.
The surprise of her lips against my cheek.
I drink from this remedy each time you open your lips.
So in silence I gasp.
As you caught me off guard,
My ideal love
In the dire moments of constant fear,
anyone can sense danger from all sides...
wondering if this is our final chapter,
or the continuation of more absurd lies!
I sold my gold to pay off some hefty bills:
a bracelet and a chain I wore at gala parties;
I agreed to a lesser price and feel at peace...
kicking off many worries to the lowest degree!
I asked the bearded guy behind the glass window,
how much they were worth trying to make a deal;
he looked at me and with a raspy voice not so genteel,
" To be honest they aren't worth much, poor fellow! "
He handed me one hundred dollars
enough to survive a few miserable days;
I walked away unhappily, I was ripped off...
yesterday it felt good being an admired toff!
I sold my gold feeling deprived of excessive pride,
it served a purpose but it left much emptiness inside;
greed is not the rule we must live by: gold is a wealth
well-earned, but it can't save us from destined death!
Gentle winds
Gentle on the city
City near the sea
City lush and green
Green is beautiful
Green is pleasant
Pleasant to the eyes
Pleasant to feel
Feel refreshed
Feel the breeze
Breeze blows faster
Breeze turns into cyclone
Cyclone 'Vardah'
Cyclone is coming
Coming with fury
Coming to make landfall
Landfall in late afternoon
Landfall brings rain
Rain reminds of flood
Rain is heavy
Heavy is the damage
Heavy windstorm lashes
Lashes down electric posts
Lashes through the trees
Trees tumble down
Trees ripped off roots
Roots too weak to withstand
Roots can be seen
Seen above ground
Seen and felt
Felt and smelt
Felt in the air
Air smells strong
Air scented with leaves
Leaves that are crushed
Leaves on the road
Road is blocked
Road filled with branches
Branches all fallen
Branches fresh and big
Big vehicles pulverised
Big loss to the city
City without its green limbs
City experienced damage
Damage of verdure
Damage in December
December double disasters unfurled
December remembered for devastation
Devastation ...
Unfurled ...
********************************************
22.12.16
The orchestra opens with a bang, and the musical director raises his hand and the symphony began. Sunday morning crowd with anxious heart sits quietly in the hall as the orchestra plays a wonderful rendition for the wedding ceremony. Celebrities and dignitaries filled the theatre dress circle, listening to the sting hitting the strings while celebrity’s whisper unfolds on hot mic.
The orchestra sounded good and the entire guest understood that it was no ordinary feat; when the soprano starts to sing, it almost ripped off the entire roof as the voice bellow through the hallway before it landed on the heart to stay. The speeches were brief, but the music swept the guest off their feet, and they kept asking for more.
Footsteps moving down the hallway trotting on marble heel floor, it’s like horses moving on the track creating anything that is new as they walk down the hallway of the marble heel floor with courage and pride in their shoe.
It beautiful and strong and you can never tell what is going on; the distance between them was neat and heaven kept them moving on their feet. They disburse in groups and pack the room of the marble heel floor; the stage was big and wide and the guest had an unusual surprise.
There was something peculiar on the floor, and it had people moving from door to door. It was a design on the marbled heel floor that kept curious eyes looking and searching for the spot that leads to the track.
The marble heel floor has a design beneath the tile that leads you into another country through a gigantic door. It has a special spot that leads to Egypt through the back. There are layers of tiles that you cannot see and if you remove one it will lead you into the sea. The Egyptians knows about it for the pharaoh had carved it, they led special wedding guest out the back door, down a passage through the marble heel floor.
It is just one tile that you have to move, that will expose everyone that is walking without shoes. The crowd is racing to see you, and they want to meet with you before the day is through. The lay line is another kind and that too us waiting on the line, but the marble heel floor is of a special kind, its polished and glazed and it shines like a mirror into your face.
The marble heel floor is built inside the gate, don’t be late
Shaking in trembles, tremor within.
A delicate pivot, shifts in separation.
Consolation comforts, the loss of win.
My first year of divorce, set in liberation.
Bushwhacked, travelling back in time..
Reflections,... on dark night window.
Shredded heart, in melancholy chime.
Voice not so dulcet, in tears a wet pillow.
I was once your only love, you ever knew.
nonverbal dreams in your eyes of allure.
Law settled rich, in favor of revenue.
In acrimony of hate, split ruins.. of poor.
Joining torn papers, pieces ripped off..
Crawling and dodging, in slow boredom.
Healing cruel cracks of scorn and scoff,
hopes of Oasis in mirage of freedom.
Am I waiting for greetings and message?
Anniversary of an unhappy scar.
Scrambling albums, photos in wreckage,
Yes, we celebrate free.... as prisoners of war.
PLACED FIRST IN THE CONTEST
23rd February 2019
Submitted to Eight Word Anniversary contest
Sponsor Michelle Faulkner
Theme.. Describe any anniversary using given 8 words
mirage,dulcet,consolation, pivot,favor, nonverbal,
delicate, allure
Werewolves are supposed to slowly transform,
But William Grenier ripped off his skin,
In the moment before a fight with Hellboy,
To hoping that he would win!
Hellboy's punch drew first blood,
Where Grenier would explain he is now "Only Beast!",
And he would wallop Hellboy to the floor,
With rising dust and broken statues at his feet!
A tumbling tackle. A rock to the eye.
And a crossed spear to the chest...
Hellboy attacked as he always does;
Controlled anger and ballerina-like balance, he's the best!
"I'm tired.", William the werewolf speaks,
Then helplessly drops down against buckled knees.
Hellboy stands proud, the castle secured?
He hopes it will be the last of these!
Monday, October 11, 2021
Where the temple of books stood still,
Library of Jaffna kept ancient history in Tamil.
1933, is where it was all built by cement and wood.
The pure, white colour of the library was seen beyond good.
Ancient texts, ancient books, were read,
Books of ancient history would rarely been unread.
The library was like a sacred temple of books.
Archaeologists would admire its heavenly and sacred looks.
1981, where chaos was going to start,
Where flames consumed the library's heart.
Mobs of the Sinhalese burnt down Tamil's memories of history,
Whether the ancient books or texts are going to survive, is a mystery?
97,000 books burnt in one single night,
The structure had been ripped off from its tall height.
The pain of losing our history in writing is great loss,
Not a single book or an ancient text or single word couldn't be recovered from this burning loss.