Long Yearn for Poems
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Did Shakespeare ever fall in love?
A rose by any other name would
stink as sweet!
What would Y'eshua say if indeed
Magdalene was his favorite disciple?
What miracles would he impress her
with
So as to savor her forbidden apple?
O woman!
Is that why god made you last of all
nature's enviable beauty?
If before he said let there be light
You were the first thing his devine
eyes saw
I bet creation would have been a
different theory altogether.
If love at first sight was a figure of
speech
Then I swear I love you like a
metaphor
And your smile is a typo
They meant to say a simile
I will kiss your face like a blank page
And my lips will be the tip of my
pencil
Drawing drooling hieroglyphs like
the hand of god
Inscribing Ten Commandments of
Love
On the tablets of your breasts
Because my name is Moses
A stammerer on a voyage to save a
lonely soul
From the shackles of cynicism
On love affairs.
I would love to laugh while making
rough love to you
On the dark floor of my solitude cell
Where torn pages of amatuerish
poems lay as a carpet
Because you are my words:
Maybe your face is the sky
And your eyes are the stars
Maybe your laughter is a symphony
Of a million harps from a million
virgin angels
I have written about love a million
times
And still you remain elusive
A mystery
Are you an acrostic;
So each letter tells your tale?
Maybe a couplet or limerick?
Are you a sonnet? Or a ballad? Or a
metre without a rhyme?
Maybe you are a mere syllable I
mumble at every sudden ******.
Your body is a symmetry of regular
ryhthm
Consumate from five to seven
And back to five
Haiku:
Japanese poets should build a
pedestal for you
And all lustful lads
Should come and slink the slank at
your feet
Indeed lady,
Your gait and pride and smell of
shaven armpits and eyeballs might
make a eunuch have an ********
And that to me
Is amorous injustice!
Tell me,
What can a scribe do?
When all I write about is human
weakness
And wickedness?
When writing to me is an escape
from adjectives I can't utter over a
cup of coffee?
To me,
The strand of your hair alone
Deserves atleast umpteenth stanzas
of praise
A prerequisite.
If I say I love you
Will you giggle at my palpability?
Why bore you with parables
When all you yearn for is a touch
And forever?
I will say no more.
When you return home after many years,
stepping onto familiar soil,
your heart stirs with bittersweet anticipation.
The sun-tinted house that once witnessed your dreams
now stands a stranger, with cold eyes afar,
overgrown vines clinging to its weathered walls.
It is as if time has woven arras of indifference,
forgetting the dwelling you once held dear.
Your gloomy eyes , yearn for the sight of loved ones.
Brimming with longing and delight,
search for the comforting presence of a mother’s love.
But her cot is empty, an echoing void
that resonates with absence.
The silence lingers, a haunting reminder
of the void left behind.
Your ears strain, longing to catch
the timbre of your father’s call,
but the emptiness engulfs you,
and his voice is but an echo in the time.
Oh, how it pains you to realize
that the essence of your childhood has vanished,
scattered like fragments of a forgotten dream.
The trees you once nurtured
no longer extend their branches in recognition,
their leaves now whispering unfamiliar secrets to the wind.
The birds that sang in joyful harmony
have embarked on their migratory journey,
leaving behind only mark of their melodies.
In your room, where time stands still,
A sanctuary of memories, both tender and surreal.
Your photo on the tinting wall,
Whispers tales of laughter.
In this moment, you stand suspended
between the realms of nostalgia and reality,
caught in the delicate dance of remembrance and loss.
The evening glows, once bathed in golden hues,
now cast their gentle glares upon your soul.
Days spent in the backyard beneath the sheltering heaven
of a tall tree flicker before your eyes,
like fragments of a fading painting.
As you wander through the corridors of time,
retracing the steps of your youth,
you come to realize that home is not merely a collection of tiles
not a building, confined within four walls,
it’s a dropbox of your heart, where dreams are saved, love and laughter sprawls, a symphony of whispers, of joy and tears combined,
an abode of cherished echoes, forever intertwined,
an eternal flame that cannot be extinguished.
As you stand there, amidst the overgrown ruins of the past,
You find the lost essence of being, imprinted upon your soul.
No matter how you wander, how far and wide you roam,
You know you’ll always return, to the place that owns you.
…
Since childhood,
as alexithymia struck my soul.
I kept all my hopes a secret,
hidden in a bucket of unshared dreams.
I kept my soul sweet like marshmallows,
but life has finally caught up with me,
Like a fast car overtaking recklessly,
leaving me behind in the slow lane -
and I'm running out of fuel.
I'm a vehicle of flashbacks from flashlights,
fatigued from embracing the old,
preparing for freshly brewed emotions.
Yet they deprive me at every dawn,
as new beginnings are always challenging.
Suffocating in this silent selcouth slumber,
life tries to call my bluff, when it knows,
I am the master of my masquerade.
My soul pleads with fate to usher me with belief,
but I can see death at my doorstep,
creating intrusive insecurities like termites,
eating away at branches of my sanity,
feeding upon my ordained Orphic glory.
Emotions are an interior mechanism,
so many remain fooled by my exterior,
but I'm tired of searching for salvation.
You who claim to love me,
gift me a scented candle made with your hands,
so its sentimental scent can bring me peace.
Take me to a place without a name,
without a label,
without judgment -
without suffering.
Unchain me from jeapordising January jitters.
Free me from meandering in misty meadows,
which have misplaced me in foggy morning sunshine -
bring me clarity.
These are not random thoughts, random poems,
because my ink is tired from trying to find new metaphors,
to supplement an abundance of alliterations,
portraying humble happy horizons.
Love can be a false emotion,
when we yearn for reciprocal ravishing redamancy,
but when was love ever equal or even fair?
I have no resolutions, just to breathe with ease.
Sometimes love's presence made me feel aesthetic,
but sometimes a badly drawn self portrait.
You can stay or leave, but do come back,
hold on, but not too tight that it chains my wings.
When I ascend, please, miss me,
so my spirit flies back to you.
Can you not see the irony?
We accumulate many reasons to die,
but search for only one reason to live.
Ask yourself which oxymoron are you?
Dying to live or living to die?
*Alexithymia
A person's inability to recognise or describe ones own emotions
* Redamancy
a love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; the act of loving in return
In the depths of my heart, a shadow dwells, Regret's icy grip, a tale it tells. Missed opportunities, choices made, Unraveled dreams, a path that swayed. Like a phantom, it haunts my waking hours, Whispers of "what ifs" in my inner towers. A constant ache, a gnawing pain, Regret's cruel hold, an endless chain. I yearn for moments lost, chances slipped, Paths untraveled, choices I've gripped. The weight of could-have-beens crushes low, A burden of remorse, a heavy blow. In the stillness of night, it echoes deep, Regret's symphony, a song I weep. Each note a lament, a mournful cry, Tears of sorrow, a soul's goodbye. Oh, internal regret, your sting is sharp, A wound that festers, leaving an endless scar. But within this darkness, a flicker of light, A lesson learned, a chance to set things right. For in owning my remorse, I find my strength, To learn, to grow, to make amends. Regret's embrace may linger still, But I will not let it rob me of my will. I will embrace the present, seize the day, Create new memories, come what may. And though the past may cast its shadows near, I will rise above regret, banish fear. For in the journey of life, both joy and pain, Regret can be a teacher, a guide to gain. It whispers lessons, helps me understand, To live with purpose, to make a stand. So, I will carry regret's weight with grace, Learn from my mistakes, embrace its embrace. For in the depths of sorrow, strength is found, A resilient spirit, forever bound In the depths of my soul, a shadow dwells, A constant companion, a haunting spell. A tapestry of sorrow, woven with care, Embroidered with moments that lead to despair. I search for solace, but it eludes my grasp, As memories torment, holding me in their clasp. Haunted by thoughts of what could have been, I'm dragged down by regret, an unforgiving sin. But amidst the darkness, a flicker of light, A glimmer of hope in the depths of the night. Acceptance's embrace, a soothing balm, A whisper of healing, a shattered soul to calm. Forgiveness, a gentle salve on my wounds, A bridge to the future, where healing resounds. No longer will I be held captive by the past, Regret's shadow, its power will not last. From the ashes of regret, a phoenix shall rise, With newfound strength, I'll face the open skies. No longer will I dwell in sorrow's embrace, but never trust my smiling face.
.
#THIS DEDICATION SPEAKS TO A PARTICULAR INDICATION...
IT SPEAKS TOO...
SPECIFICALLY WHO???
ANYONE WHO STAYS...
UNDERNEATH
COVERS/SHIELDINGS AND YIELDINGS.
SIRENS IN HIGHEST DECIBELS GOING OFF, CONSTANTLY INSIDE, CAN'T TURN IT OFF YET!
WON'T TURN IT OFF YET???
DON'T FRET...IF YOU TRULY WANT TO, YOU CAN!
BRING IT DOWN TO ITS PROPER BALANCE!
PRIOR, THE VOLUME WAS DEAFENING,
WHAT A NEEDLESS SUFFERING!!!
"EVEN THE COVERS" COULDN'T PROVIDE BUFFERING!
"GLAD YOU CLIMBED FROM BENEATH THAT COVER!"
NOW, WHAT ABOUT THOSE SHIELDINGS...
ARE THEY COMFORTABLE,
ARE THEY COZY PERCEIVINGS?
LIKE CERTAIN FEELINGS, ARE THEY FLEETING?
LIKE A FLASH OR A MAD DASH, SHIELD'S OFF...
I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW...
WHAT'S BEING SAID, FED, TO YOUR HEAD?
DOES THIS SHIELDING PROVIDE ANY PROPER STRENGTH? WHAT'S YOUR INNER VOICE EXPRESSING TO YOU...
AT LENGTH?
I BET IT'S LOUDER THAN THUNDER!!!
"IT" IS YOUR GIFT!!! WHY SHIELD IT???
LET IT "ROAR! ROAR! ROAR!" AS YOUR REMINDER NOT TO SETTLE OR SHIELD IN SILENCE. SPEAK AT PEAK: NEVER MEEK!!!
DON'T "HUSH" YOUR OWN LIFE, AND SHIELD NOT...
ELEVATED INSIGHT! ALRIGHT :-)
AHH, SOFT AS A WHISPER'S WHISPER...
THIS IS THE VOICE THAT YOU HEAR AND YOU CAN'T TUNE IT OUT! YOUR SPIRITUAL TONE NEVER HAS TO SHOUT :-) THAT'S WHY IT HOLDS TRUE GLORIOUS CLOUT, AS WELL, CLARITY. IT ONLY BECOMES A RARITY TO TUNE IN...IF YOU OR I ARE "OUT OF TUNE"
ALLOWING "IT" NOT TO RESUME...
WITH IT'S URGENCE AND PRECIOUS RESURGENCE,
HOW ELSE IS ONE TO EMERGE & SURGE VICTORIOUSLY...DEFEATING THE "NOISE"
THAT MAY TAMPER/HAMPER FROM OUR OWN INNATE {SOLACE} "INTERFERENCE" OF SOUND SENSIBILITIES.
DAMN DISTRACTIONS WE LOOK FOR,
IN PLACE OF THE ACTIONS AND TRACTION
WE INSTEAD YEARN FOR...
CORE WHISPER'S WHISPER, "IS N E V E R ON MUTE..."
NO A.I. CAN COMPETE WITH T H I S COMPUTE!
THROUGHOUT LIFE...
WE'LL HAVE TO KICK THOSE COVERS!
STOP SHIELDING, "OURSELVES!"
CEASE YIELDING, BY CHOICE...
BECAUSE YOU'RE A L W A Y S BEING* "SPOKEN TO"
YOU CAN ADJUST YOUR LEVELS AND DECIBELS TO HIGH OR LOW...FAST OR SLOW.
BUT, YOUR {INNER SETTING} HAS ITS OWN LEVERAGING AND TRUST ME....
IF YOU'RE RECEPTIVE, PARTICULARLY PERCEPTIVE...
IT WILL B A L A N C E
YOU & I ACCORDINGLY...
{PERFECT PITCH}
~~~~~~~DIVINELY & ZERO GLITCH~~~~~~~
Renee D. Gross {GHPPR} SEPTEMBER 23, 2023#
"you are more than I deserve. It's a love I never dreamed I'd find. Happinesd like this is worth dying for..."
- Yasunari Kawabata-
Looking down, while flying midway between sky and earth,
I saw a dog on the grey tongue of an abandoned road,
Licking its genitals under summer-noon's hot slogan.
And I understood how badly I had drifted from your hills.
The hearth, that eatthen hearth, we often mended with butter-clay scooped out of a shallow river called "wahumkhra",
every time it cracked, pitilessly, after meals we managed to cook, sparingly though, will always remain as the only string that holds the chandelier of my fragile existence.
O that sweet hunger, how I yearn for it now.
The pallet of pine-needles stiched with old sacks,
on which we gathered dreams with smell of pine forests,
was no lesser than the priest's preachings on sunday mornings about His heaven's promised infinite sleep.
The narrow streets on which I doddered looking for work,
with constantly slipping away toes from outworn sandals,
while you waited for me with the blossoming seed in your belly, a future, full of honeyed beehives, over which I staggered drunk with restlessness of a beggar, for which I repent till this day.
I never knew, honestly, that I will become an irrelevant thread in the embroidery of jasmines on the hem of mekhala chaddar worn by a naiad, for the first time, shyly, when she attained puberty, and on the day of her subsequent gandharva marriage to an alchemist.
For the time being, I exist as a windless flag with no colors, neither white nor of any color known to mankind.
My soul and heart stay bled, like the butchered wings of Jatayu, but sweetheart, you will hear me flutter, sometimes, in the chuckling of a wounded squirrel and wailing of a cicada in the pine-hills where winds tease clouds, where you dwell reminiscing shadows of our silhouetting nonsenses.
Notes :
1. Mekhala chaddar, a traditional of Assamese women.
2. Gandharva marriage is one of the eight classical types of hindu marriage. This ancient marriage tradition from the Indian subcontinent was based on mutual attraction between to people, with no rituals, witnesses or family participation.
3. Jatayu was a vulture, in the hindu epic ramayana, whose wings were severed by ravana's sword, while attempting to rescue sita when the latter kidnapped her.
Form:
Crying Mercy
Hurled down the depth of a desolate ditch
By folks envious of my blazer to cloak,
To the lowest tide of despair, I`ve reached
And pace of my breath points to a heart stroke.
With sad clouds of stress stretching to the neck
Hardly I can eye sunshine in the sky
And the boat of my life seems to be wrecked
With the weight of rolling waves of deep sighs.
No more can I stroll for long on a beach,
Tread along the flank of a sloping hill,
Swim in the azure sea like a grey fish
Or taste the sweet joy of tilling the field.
O Good Lord, I pray for your compassion
To melt any guilt of mine from past lives,
And beseech your lenience for infraction
To any of your rules during my strife.
O Mighty Lord, I yearn for your mercy
To gaze at the shine of your divine light,
For your lenience I am ever thirsty,
I pray that you shore up my astral flight.
O Supreme Lord, I cry for your mercy
To bestow on me strength to quit this ditch,
Of your fatherly grace, make me worthy
That I may attain the shrine of your feet.
O Graceful Lord, I scream for your mercy
From the very depth of my pining heart,
All that I cherish is a humble lee
In your realm that I may serve you apart.
O Lord, I pray I`m released from this drain,
InflictIng upon me bodily pain,
That the celestial sky I may attain
Your humble servant ever to remain.
In the whispering silence of a moonlit night,
where stars wink like old friends,
I drift along the river of my thoughts,
an unbound stream of consciousness,
Flowing through the landscapes of potential and purpose,
where dreams dwell like forgotten treasures.
Most of us,
shadows of our true selves,
live in shallow waters,
afraid to dive into the depths,
Creating busywork,
weaving webs of distraction,
as if afraid to face the stillness of our own souls.
Oh, how we toil, like ants in an endless march,
building castles in the sand,
Not because the work is urgent,
but because we do not know the art of being.
We are craftsmen of the banal,
architects of the mundane,
lost in the frenzy of doing,
When all we yearn for is to float,
weightless and free,
on the river of life,
to be carried by its gentle current.
Imagine a world where laziness is a virtue,
where idlers are the sages,
Where shaking off the chains of duty is a path to enlightenment,
To bask in the golden glow of a sunset,
to savor the sweetness of a moment unclaimed by time,
To relax into the embrace of existence,
to find joy in the art of simply being.
I do not preach a life of total inactivity,
for such would be a disservice to the soul,
But rather a life where each act is a dance,
each gesture a poem,
imbued with meaning and grace.
Let us not be prisoners of our own making,
bound by the chains of needless toil,
But the artists of our destiny,
painting with the colors of purpose and passion.
For in the quiet moments,
where the heart beats in sync with the cosmos,
We discover the true rhythm of life,
a melody that calls us to slow down,
to listen, to feel.
To be busy is not to live,
but to be alive is to flow,
to ebb and surge with the tides of meaning,
To find the balance between action and inaction,
to dance on the edge of potential and peace.
So let us embrace the wisdom of the river,
to be lazy in the pursuit of joy,
To be idlers in the garden of dreams,
to cultivate a life that blooms with significance.
For in this dance,
this flow of consciousness,
we find the essence of our being,
And though the world may rush around us,
we shall move with the grace of those who understand,
That the river of life carries us not to the shores of accomplishment,
But to the ocean of our own infinite potential.
The Defiance
I feel this night to be stolen from me
This endless night when I’m sitting lone
Day by day, the ever quest is ever harder to see
Of a life to belong never mine… to own
From several weeks ago to only seem too soon
Were my days a helpless stray into the arms of night!
From a dawning Sun to share sorrows alike till a dusking moon
Should there ever be a tranquility to shed a sympathy light?
As remembered, the life of Alkaiya hangs upon a thread
Whether alive it be or death be claimed, remains unknown
With a future unseen, my thoughts were unwritten to be read
And I yearn for the fruits of The Ancients be rapidly sown!
Let there be tranquility to will, of this I pray
No matter the endless nights of places searched in vain
With age, were dreams dreamt much lesser towards everyday!
Might The Askance be of aid to deliver me once again?
Have I forgotten my bearings, my place in the world?
Have I forgotten the belated me, from a once life I live?
Did I remember my dreams with portals welcoming in swirl?
Are there no more of mystic evidence to once more believe?
And I enclose my eyes, envisioning a once moment before
Endearing the fabrics of time woven with melodic aria
However much of information I’m to congregate I’ll recall
Anything and everything I’ll do in sacrifice for Alkaiya
{And as I open my eyes to believe what I’m to see
Alkiaya is in my arms in distance hopes never to be
Is it a dream, simply a dream and nothing more?
If I am to blink my eyes, is the moment nevermore to recall?
And with tears to relent to, I’m to see the truth as true
Of concerns ingrain to forever dispose to never again feel
It is at this moment I’m to know how much she is to mean
If not to love, neither to hold, be perhaps what love can bring
I guess as long she’s alive and by my side, there is nothing more to ask for
And should the day be known when together in love, may well be meant so much more
In the meantime, Twit the Sylvan is already rejoicing in joy
Regaining once again, his special magical ability to annoy
Sylvius isn’t anywhere unfortunately, to share this occasion
A wonder for a Fallen as the hopes of The Ancients is in assurance
However is the future to unfold, my heart has taken a leap
To be entwined with Alkaiya as evidently she wills to speak}
I wrestle with the demons of the night
who have forced me to put up a terrible fight
I wrestle with the demons of the day
who wants to lead my spirit astray
And when the evening is done
The mystry will have heaven on the run
And the joy will start running over
When we unite in the middle of the night
And connects with the passion that is burning inside
Then we will climb on top of the mountain
And gaze over the horizon with the music singing
and vibrating from the four corners of the earth
with hands on cheek lushious breeze swinging in the deep
And the clouds will dance on wings when
the pride is stepping in, and the bells will ring
to the chants of those glorious hymn
Joy will leap and stretch my feet above the distance sky
When we move forward to accept that Bligh
Oh how I wait patiently for that moment when we will
dance in the street with the happy crowd and doors will close
with midnight washing all over the floor
And the midnight bliss burst through the silent door
and touch me.How much I yearn for that day
When my spirit will move through sky and circulate
the atmosphere with everything that is discrete
And way out into the deep our spirits will be complete
The fountain will wet the hill with my song and
it will make music that will roar through depth of the sea
And the crowds will applaud and shout when the journey is complete
This day will come and I am waiting, this day will come and my heart
is breaking, this day will come when heart will listen to is own song
It will feel the thrills and send showers on my window sil
And my spirit will embrace something new and it will listen silently to you
It will listens carefully to the stars above and the music vibrating in the bars
And I will watch the frantic crowds running about without a doubt
I kept waiting for the day when the hills will release its energy and
And the wisdom of mankind will open in the sea and un-nerve everybody
The hills will florish and my heart will be settled beneath the clouds
The trees will spread through the wreched valley and meet at the pinicle of mountain to remove all doubt and enlightened the ingnorant souls that keeps moving and tossing the message about. Embrace the message that is profound,and end the show with truth and facts that will make you glow.