My heart does ache.
My eyes would like to close a while;
bathe in dark lake
of mystic dreams and erstwhile
memories of images now opaque.
My tired soul
begs the keeper of the mind:
summon that golden oriole,
bid it fly to thoughts that I, purblind,
have sought but never recovered whole.
And in its beak
bring back from realms afar
the comfort I seek
from sacred leaf of deodar,
that trance-like visions I might eke.
O, soul be calm again,
Be-trembled frame be still.
O, heart your pulse restrain.
With bird-like impulse in weakness of will
it dips its steely beak into my vein.
The guiles of spiders are designed to fetch
Life-support prey seldom of an own kind.
If wild cats hunt, it’s only food to find--
What ye call beasts, in heart hate never hatch,
Nor in hostility the hunted catch
And only kill to fill a hungry maw
In a highly held un-writ wildlife law:
Slay to survive or get slain if no match,
Knowing not else but do just as designed,
Unlike O men hunting’s thy pass-time game,
A trophy wall-mounted in flashy frame,
Purblind, heedless, ye alone hunt own kind
Thus, crowning thee as lord of death in shame
Ye write a tale of thy blood-be-soaked name.
______________________________
Musings | 08.11.2012/revised July 2026 | beast, kill, joy, men, wild, Sonnet
Note: And I am tempted to add two more sonnet endings:
To call it sport that goes to fetch thy end
In slaying lives on whom thine own depend.
Till one day Earth twirls inverted thy claim,
And he who thought him hunter turneth game.
Flies love figs, oaks, elms, and willows; we know.
They play hide-and-seek with leaves tinged with snow.
In their purblind fondness, our hearts get sparked?
Do they flee from us because we're crook-backed?
Around us, wingers of every kind fly.
We often love their melancholic cry.
Isn't each fly as fine as a butterfly?
Shouldn't each be the master of the sky?
The colours and vibes of flies are versatile.
Doesn't their existence, yet, appear futile?
Why should frail flies be weighed down by lures?
Why should life move around ecliptic blurs?
I see Maya as a video game
If its software gets decoded,
No more a tiger, life looks cat-like tame
If source code’s breached, its secret spread.
By mere digits, by dots and dashes made,
Innocence still’s no bliss, but shame,
Where so knowledge burns bright if ignited,
Fun fizzles out and life walks lame.
If players we are in a pre-planned game,
Let Maya a magic toy be.
Peas prosper well in a pod’s confined frame,
A man purblind looks, scarce can see.
If ignorance is child-like innocence,
To bask in bliss, I feel, makes immense sense.
___________________ ___
Sonnet (Tongue-in-cheek) | 04.11.2016 |ignorance, bliss, joy, world
First blush fountain azimuth of hued rays
wet patio shrub basket in the haze
zealous heartland tower cry as life force
celebrate and savour August rare days
Magenta skylines cluster silken clouds
blue ocean colour eyes that worship shrouds
a fancy surreal canvass so divine
it mesmerises jubilant bright crowds
Summer fun arcades stoke our dream world mind
gasps of red tint bliss a peak season find
earthbound poise dilates refulgent cascade
rocking beach tune fare blurs dark strain purblind
Sapphire plinths that anchor stoic ambit
vision on parade my high rise gambit
traipse amid the dahlia euphoric
seventh heaven rapture’s cloud nine orbit
It Saw Me Through Such Dastardly Purblind Eyes
It saw me through such dastardly purblind eyes
Up there overhead with silent anger
What a truly ghastly, dangerous beast
On a morn with dazzling trapezoid skies
This heart could not bear to see its long paws
and that deathly stare that penetrated me
O' lord save me now, please come to my aid
I wept bitterly, slashed with those claws
My mind again said to me, be thee stout
Step back, grab your sharpened sword and cut
You can do it, kill this fierce, horrid beast
And as I swung, I said "die, with a shout"!
That sword plunged in fast and hilt deep.
Damn it, alarm clock rang, I woke from sleep.
Robert J, Lindley - Dark sonnet
Dec 6th, 1973
To say hello to spring
Winter relents in time,
Grey goes green, smiles gream grime,
Nature knows— not to cling.
Seasons change on their own
And wait not till too late
To kiss change on due date,
All things change, even stone.
But man seems stuck sans clue,
Feels frozen facing change,
Red nor green, but orange!
He who once walked on two
From all four, far to see
As ape— his greatest feat,
Yet, somewhere lost his wit,
Opting purblind to be.
In saying no to change,
An existential threat
That might wipe out his fate,
Back to times of Stonehenge!
_____________________________
Reflections | 06.09.2016, revised Feb 2023| change
Poet’s note: In evolutionary race when man was not yet a *****Sapiens, he showed an exemplary foresight to steer himself ahead of all life forms, on top of pyramid to be, and never to look back ever since— the time he, as an ape, decided to walk on his rear two legs. But today it seems he chooses to be purblind, refusing to see the threat to his existence. This piece wonders if man is on his way back to Stonehenge.
Inside our minds time often flows backward,
To rich sparkling treasures we left behind,
But the memories become somewhat blurred,
In a landscape where purple mists purblind.
There we find old gold, because time is kind
To the woman in the shoe with children,
Fading slow with Alice in Wonderland,
And Humpty Dumpty, from the wall fallen.
And old loves and those we knew beforehand,
Not to mention past sudden joys unplanned!
Written on 1/30/2022
For: D Forms - Dizain- Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
‘babes you need UV protection’
from top to tail and midsection
‘I’m African don’t be daft’
quite insulted she laughed
a masterpiece of self deception
but the tan worshipper in Cape Town
decided her skin must get more brown
took a book to sun
but it was ’Shantaram’
now she got blisters and a burnt frown
the sequel is called ‘Mountain Shadow’
900 pages to become quite aglow
thought she reflected her lesson
from scripted obsession
and consumed part two in the snow
she became frosted in flakes and purblind
‘babes some advice if you don’t mind’
the book has dangerous thickness
and then there is altitude sickness
Mount Kilimanjaro can be unkind
now she reads reclined in the boudoir
fact fiction fantasy and mysterious lore
Hawaiian tropic neath pajamas on cutis
sun shades and bedsores on gluteus
and wonders what else reading has in store
should she try with fins snorkel and mask
but corals sting and sharks have a blast
a most unappealing notion
why not apply sun lotion
and make misconception a thing of the past
14th June 2020
a true story and part of the family legend
White Sand and Temporary Oblivion
For an aching moment
I faced dazzling
Gypsum and glass as splinters
Of sunlight pierced the air
Bouncing bright off the landscape at
Alamogordo ---fat Cottonwoods and
not a tree in sight not
Here, the sight of the unholy Trinity
test
Blessed and blast
A fitting slant rhyme for our
slanted
times
askew at
1700 Silica Avenue in a decidedly
different Manhattan where no
Dandy boulevardier would dare strut.
Castle Bravo likewise
No place to dwell as we
Did our best
to incinerate the century
Trolling for a toll in the ashes of the atoll.
No sufficient payment was made.
But all that brightness
those purblind moments flirting
With nothingness all
retreated
Like genie to bottle
Heard whispering,
"I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds..."
Certain whispers linger
Portending brighter, more permanent
Non-being; so be it.
It boggles my mind
How man uses water to cook, wash dishes,
Bathe, and drink.
Yet, mankind
In its infinite wisdom you'll find
Doesn't think.
It boggles my mind
How blind
And hoodwinked
Mankind
It seems has purblind
When it comes to taking care of our water which
Is our precious life link.
It boggles my mind.
This is putting all humans in a bind
Not to mention the creatures who live in the
Surrounding waters to them this stinks.
Yet, mankind
Goes on its merry way inclined
Not to look like a fink.
It boggles my mind
Yet, who can figure out mankind?
I'm garbage of thinking!
Let me make a recycle bin
Let me wash off –
my heart, soul, brain, thinking, doing
Let me throw these all-
dust, rust, narrowness, purblind of knowing
into recycle bin!
- October 09, 2018 Chattogram
ANDREA DIETRICH
Andrea, I am a purblind parrot
I have to borrow your carrot
(Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty)
I’m Andrea, a visitor to earth,
And I'm a Virgo; astrologically,
Stability has ruled me since my birth.
A gentle, mellow earth girl here you see.
(Andrea Dietrich)
...and heart she opened wide
The placid hue her eyes were born
A flirty blue, her eyes
Romantic eyes, with whisper of soft lavender for one
The breeze blew in
She clung to life and pondered soberly
Beyond what they had endeavored yet to do.
Her vision was an eagle's
She could see the roads along the shore
Someone motionless
She felt no wrath, but peace engulfed her
She embraced her soul's release.
New snow, beneath the moon and stars, falls with grace
My sweet goddess Andrea
With divine thunder
Rules the poetic world, the cerulean space
WSponsor Judy Konos
rite a Poem - Poetry Contest
Extreme sadness looking far away to nowhere
Purblind affair undestined to last last forever
Self-centeredness had been fading the glowing flare
Her spirit may seemed dead but the beats were still there
Into her eyes, teardrops fell in a silent stare
Gigantic sorrows made her cry a river
Irreversible love is going to somewhere
In state of his despise, she loved him than ever
She dream to be with him together forever
His road of calvary she is ready to bear
But his long waited shadow really never care
He left her in the middle of darkest nowhere
She thought she was dead yet she is a wallflower
Thinking, wondering her nostalgic love affair
Bite this flesh of yellow burnish,
Suck deep of citrus and see, if
The beauty of the textured surface
Can be endured in reality.
Screwed up eyes and peeling lips,
The tremored hiss of breath, inhaled
As shudders rattle bones,
A chill, a shadow cast of death,
Yet look again, and beauty hungers,
Invites, beguiles, begs for this, unquestioned
Love devoted and purblind,
Embittered by Lucretia kiss.
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