Long Set to Poems
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If I were immortal,
the carriage of fleeting time
can’t carry my soul away
from the adoring life in the present
to the distant realm of the past
where everything acquired
gets abandoned in obscurity.
Trailing the shadow of the future,
creating the convivial flood of love,
time carries on its flow to inundate
the lavish landscape of life sculpted
in my mind where dwells dormant
the perceptible desire of perpetuity,
the deathless dream…immortality.
If I were immortal,
the entrancing memory won’t die,
subsisting enduringly in the present,
for the soaring bird of my love
will fly in the infinite firmament,
spreading the wings to embrace
the halcyon horizon of the future.
While I drift with the imperishable soul,
floating in the sublime sea of eternity,
and with the congenial wind of love,
blowing on the sanguine sail of life,
set to embark on an endless journey,
I’ll get from the stalled time,
the surreal divine gift…immortality.
________________
April 23, 2022
Contest : If I Were Immortal
Sponsored by : Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Few minutes were left, for the Sun to rise;
And the passing night was ready for its demise.
I stood on the Bridge, and looking at the sky, -
Having woken, the birds were all set to fly.
Ah!what a pleasant feeling I had at that moment,
It seemed that the nature had worn a new garment.
The gentle breeze flowing over the calm river;
Perhaps I hadn't felt it ever.
Little faces of the ragged children with torn clothes,
And which really hurt, the pallor of helpless mother;
No one can realize her agony better,
Than the river, in which their misery floats.
Then, the time of sunrise came,
And wished to capture the view in a frame;
Ah!,then I was also enjoying the pleasure of breeze,
When the first ray of the Sun touched the Howrah Bridge.
Gold turban and dark eyes that stare
He soon caught my eye at the fair.
His white gazing ball
held answers for all-
At once, I was caught in his glare!
Voltar was his mystical name.
For years, he's held carnival fame.
Now set to comply
On faith would rely
To play his miraculous game.
I placed my three bucks in the slot-
Find out what he thinks, good or not.
His words startled me,
Though he spoke softly
On something I never forgot!
He knew I had lost my heartthrob;
At that point, I felt I could sob.
A card then slipped out
My fortune, no doubt?
No! Asks for five bucks- I feel robbed!
How silly of me to believe
His fortune could soothe and relieve!
Goodbye, Zoltar- fear
You made your act clear.
Just empty words, I did receive!
On mornings stitched with quiet light,
he stood before the day took shape—
not loud, not crowned with ceremony,
but steady as a door that doesn’t break.
His hands knew maps no one had drawn,
the routes through doubt, through hunger, through fear,
he built a language out of small acts—
“I'm here,” he said, by being here.
A father is not only thunder,
not only walls against the storm,
but also rain that feeds the garden,
a patient heart that helps us form.
In worn-out shoes and late-night sighs,
in lessons given without show,
in every “try again” he offers—
that’s where the deepest roots will grow.
He carries futures in his silence,
dreams he sets aside to raise
a child who may not see the cost
until much later in their days.
And still he gives, in ways unseen—
a compass set to what is right,
a quiet faith that we will find
our own true path, our own good light.
So here’s to him, and those like him,
who shape the world with unseen art—
for every life he’s helped to steady
is proof of fatherhood’s true heart.
The wheels turn,
the road stretching in to the distance.
I hear the hum of the engine
buzzing like a thousand honey bees.
The broken white lines flash past in my rear view mirror
on their never ending race to the horizon.
I feel as if I'm standing still.
Is it me that's moving,
or is it the world around me?
Since you left I just don't know.
Each day is but an image of the day before,
each moment I live again and again,
as if the same instant has been set to loop,
over and over and over.
I wish I could see you,
but you are lost to me.
I wish I could call you,
but If I do and you don't answer...
The fear is just too great.
My poor heart wouldn't last a moment.
I miss you so.
Who would have thought it would end like this.
I guess you knew.
The road is now turning and I see mountains before me,
just another obstacle ahead.
I've jumped life's hurdles on more occasions than I care to count.
It's nothing new,
but now I grow weary.
Is it truly worth the pain?
The rains have come and gone,
and left everything wet.
The road is slippery.
I should mind my way, but my thoughts are of you,
always you.
I know I will never again hear the soft whisper of your gentle words,
the tinkling bells in the joy that is your laughter,
the illuminating gaze of the light from your caring eyes.
As well it should end this way,
our road diverging into separate paths,
yours running straight and true,
mine meandering to no specific destination.
I once had no fear of the road.
As long as the stars gazed down upon me
the journey was always my companion
and I was where I should be.
Lost is just a word people use
when they think they know where they are going.
I have never been lost,
not until you.
Now home seems so very, very far away.
I'm not sure I have enough fuel to make it.
I see a road sign not far ahead of me
but all of the paint has been scraped away.
So I'll just keep traveling on
until this beat up old car can't run anymore,
and perhaps that's where I'll stay.
Better yet, I see fresh pavement veering from my path,
Perhaps I'll find a new road to travel.
08/07/2018
There was a child who ran wild
Who was born into fragments broken pieces styled
Locks without rocks book without fiction
Played cops robbers toys pulled with friction
He liked mud pies bean pies rock spot and trial sized chocolate bits with thick Caramel sooth sailing mixed
He liked climbing hills with Bill Bad cowboy and all his donkeys
Talk trash with no cash climb trees with monkeys
Play imaginary Dallas state star gazed would sunk see
Drowning toys tied with strings go home you monkey
The rock slide he rides Rushed hours to the thigh while mother called Tommy boy Back in the house as the sun went down
His clothes were literally drowned
Playtime debris chocolate on his knee
Every toy imaginary could be
Put up for another time eat carrots to tell time
Water was calling to wash off residue
Sheets set to a dial tone that told Tommy not to move
Deep sleep it would be end travels do sing
But covers pulled back and sang Tommy to sleep
A Wintry Night
The night is dull, dreary and cold,
Yet my books I wish to unfold,
My aged pen I wish to hold
And divine verses to unroll.
The wind is cold, sturdy and strong,
My bones are frail, feeble and weak,
Yet my mind is robust and young
And songs with rhymes I long to tweet.
The clouds are dense, hefty and dark,
Yet my inner self is full bright,
Plugged with the radiant inner spark
And dazzling with the inner light.
The rains are wet, heavy and damp,
Yet my soul is light and full bright,
Drawing from the flame of the lamp,
Lit throughout the day and the night.
My frame is still, steady and warm,
But soon it will turn wintry cold
And laid to rest as food for worms
Or set to fire on a fold.
Yet the night will soon fade away
And anon a new dawn creep in,
Giving rise to another day,
May be better than one has seen.
Like the new dawn, my soul will rise
To reside in another shrine
Until, at last, time will arise
For it to reach the Divine Shrine
Where there will be no wintry night
And the light will be ever bright.
Written on 7 May 2023
For A Brian Strand Premiere No. 1215 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Feeling not thinking, soul with love linking
We attained God consciousness unblinking
Feeling, tattooed with hues so deep
The sin of bonding is not ours to keep
Feeling, guided by mystical auras
Can only create a more mesmerizing show of auroras
Set to blend in our ethos
As we shall feel in us, the expanse of the cosmos
God consciousness lies in being worthy of abidance
Feelings, started on Earth, do lead the dance
Though temporal, they shall turn eternal
And shall make of existence a flame, vibing with rhythms, acoustical
Feeling and not thinking
Thinking reaches a blurry ending
Feeling, on the other hand, creates poets amidst sleepiness
All set to turn silence into breathing forests!
No one commands an audience like her.
Her life is seasoned with joy and laughter.
As she quietly steps into the room,
It takes a moment for things to resume,
Because eyes have been fixated on Fall;
Calls for festivities are heard by all.
All of heaven smiles at nature's painter,
As she strokes her magic before Winter.
Autumn creates an atmosphere of change,
As our lives prepare to be rearranged.
A reprieve from waiting has been granted.
Labor's rewards are set to be harvested.
Say nothing of the colorful beauty
Engulfing the air with serenity.
I’m writing of my neighbor,
Who sadly passed away.
She planted the poetry seed,
Of the poems you read today.
A piece of me left with her,
The day her casket closed.
She spawned my poetic inception,
For her, my work’s composed.
It’s been eleven lonely years;
Her poetic sun set, to never rise.
I’m still in mourning far from setting,
Illuminating the poetic skies.
Her presence cast infectious beauty,
But her life’s light untimely set.
Leaving a wealth of memory,
That my heart will never forget.
Her poems speak forever,
Reminding my tortured soul.
Of their creator’s radiance,
That sadly had to go.
I’m up here with other stars;
My poetic rays sting the eyes.
It's my time of day to shine,
And grace the poetic skies.
________________________________
For Chris' "Get Your Rebel On" contest