Knowledge is to hold burdens -
messages no medicine can cure.
Pains no pills can palliate.
Fears no fumes could fumigate.
It's no wonder the older I grow, the more I know,
the harder it is to endure
Intense and absurd is the ecstatic sorrow of Fall,
Could it be ephemeral craze or the rust within my mind?
Easeful summers and beatific springs placate my angst…
Balmy feral winters palliate my soul and my sense, yet
Eylul remains the ufindable season of my earthly craze.
Ruthless is the depth of the iceberg that depletes my sense!
Greenish and yellowish leaves are now under my feet, and
Estival budding love still haunts my restive, whimsical heart.
Into love-ish whims I subterfuge blasé of the yesteryears,
Haply my ephemeral insanity becomes his sane lunacy,
And all that comes along is but proof of humane lucidity.
I soon becomes us and the magical bond dispels my fears.
Is it a mere reverie or am I back to my olden deferred dreams?
Easeful is the thought of his shady iceberge in the daylight,
Yet the nocturnal darkishness it is not saccharine as it seems,
Still into love-ish whims I subterfuge blasé of lunatic insanity.
30/10/2020
Logophile
A talk therapist, a friend, an amateur poet and an introvert
In love with a smile, eyes and languages
With the ideas for images, photography and calligraphy
To palliate the feelings of low, listless and lonely
Aggravated by the fears of walls, sufferings and inhumanity
That makes me like to travel, speak and love
Aided by being a resident of India, the land of six seasons
Listener
April 15, 2020
Bio Modified Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
There is a cruel desolation these days in death
No comfort in congregational crowds.
Fear crackles on every street corner
With wary social distancing observed
On the wards,the lives of victims and carers
Held in healing and helpless hands
Too little gear to keep them safe
And shortage of drugs to palliate the pain.
Why the shortage of machines to let them breathe?
Beneath the hopeful promises of pestilential
Politicians bewildered by their ignorance
Over the insidious and devious virus
There is clearly panic,gnawing at their nerves
Bleak,apocalyptic end- of -days sensations
This darkness do shroud, our exit befogged
Flailing and hoping,failing and groping
Underlining starkly our human frailty
And turn our faces to the wall or God
Too many sacrificed to the pandemic shortages
Lives lost to lack of foresight and pecuniary policy
All lives under threat from the invisible Covid-19
With so many lungs by its deadly threads deeply invaded.
Who loves those days when the sun is hazed
and the seas unruffled with its mirrored glaze
showing every ripple and fish that moves
in the currents stream swept surface ooze.
And the tide on the beach treads soft and slow
leaving hardly a footprint as it goes
where the dark sand that each sea fall makes
is quickly absorbed to its flaxen state.
When the sand is warmly soft and gold
and the seagulls plaintiff call is bold
as no other sound competes for space
in air as soft as a mother’s embrace.
Then you lay by a bed of scented pinks
as rustling reeds their music links
with a skylarks distant worshipping praise
to sunlit, happy, palliate days.
So the amphitheatre of the cliffs
reduces all the world to this,
sea, sand and skies sensuous ideal
caressing body and soul to heal.
1
O, e’er she cometh and calleth me from the barren wolds whereupon lieth the first palpitation of the laconic exchange of bashful glances;
O, whensoe’er thy dulcet voice wafteth o’er the hummock, and thy throat trilleth for none but me, mine eccentric euphoria is celebrated by nature;
O, in the untrodden tryst wouldst thou palliate the passion of mine? I pray you, do love me, fair damsel, only because I really love thee.
2
Prithee, my ladie, my beautie, tell me wouldst thou fain love me? Knowest thou I am fain to gain thee, and hope I thou art so. Once hither thou camest and didst canoodle me, wert thou fearless and didst enrapture me. Thou , undaunted, snuggle’dst, kiss’dst , embrace’dst a swain. E’er thou wast fain to have me lain on the lovers’ crimson bed. And when dost thou bestow upon me the ancient ecstasy, and sleek is the cheek of my kingly belle, feel I relieved i’th’ glaring tryst, my sweet love !
Here within this mid-majors town, their driving her homeless down....
Chasing the broken children hearts, all about ? Truth, amid his Babylon's
Historic terms aside from such razzle dazzle hypocritic apostasy ? Vanguard's
Vexation degree and, philosophies: Phooey, your fine tuned circus choreographed
Puppet acts no pun intended; to palliate pain through Frankenstein's palsy, pageantry ?
Riding indubitable's infectious high horse spawned their poison sumac: simon-pure simple
Fractions his dossier have it your way today plexus pressage ? Stepping past a portal of where.
Her lips red like honey sweet where they split
Hair color of amber that is sunlit
Eyes shine like diamonds when fires of soul they lit
So deep the abyss in them would fit
Those eyes can see so far
Piercing heart like beyond existence’s druid star
Like gamma ray from a pulsar
And her song is symphony of savior
This song will palliate soul with its tune
As she sings under visage of the moon
That illuminates mysterious dune
Where outlandish plants grow by the sea this afternoon
Like a fairy she dances
Stars light vamooses on her as she prances
Like a goddess of romances
Her soul blossoming in expanse of expanses
Beakers ready, gentlemen,
titration calibrated to the critical degree;
unveil the poetry distilled
until reagents strike at all the barriers
that we erect in love, in agony,
in little niches, shadowy within the walls
along the course to home.
The night is warm and lovely,
radiance too harsh for summer's mists;
encomium may palliate the grave
yet leave it heaving with the frosts of truth.
May I not listen to the night?
May I not revel in its sweetness?
There is the lover with a heart congealed;
I would not see the distillate.
I could not care, for I am moved
not by nuance but by the lumbering
advance, the shameless ploy
of glorious beasts too wise
to manifest themselves within
that paradise of art I face,
that soft chagrin emerging, ghostlike,
from around my pen.
~
Haunting notes
Pacify enchanted souls
Modal blues palliate
The most wicked of heart...
For Miles Davis.
Heartbroken can’t express the grief
Fingers cannot contain the torrent of tears
Justified to feel fractious
Fractious but without justice
The moil of sleeplessness
An anxiety of tragedy, the tight, oppressive grip
Grief Management, or so it’s called
Manage grief? Palliate this extreme? No, it can’t be done
A cocktail of grief, add frustration and confusion
With a spoonful of angst and bitter
Bereft of supernal force or being
Alive now but without the living. Alone, that’s the feeling
So many questions left, no chance to ask
Brackish aftertaste pervade, maybe evermore
There’ll be no more ambuscade
Care-less, the new attitude
Feeling limp and lifeless now
Sad, but in real terms and alone
Goodbye mum. Goodbye
Vexed by your effrontery
Little pieces of my
Heart die every time
That I Reminiscence
About the recent past
Memories of your
Cruel demeanor
Are haunting me
Needing you to
Elucidate your
Actions so that
There will finally
Be a cessation
Of the cruciation
I feel inside myself
Bottling up my sorrow
Desolate existence
Secluded from your life
Feeling a colossal loss
Restless, unable
To tranquilize
My tortured thoughts
Living in a state of
Tormenting solicitude
Palliate my suffering
Bequeath your loving
Solace on me so my
Soul can find peace
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