As the Moon rises in the east
barely showing its face above the horizon
the Penumbral Eclipse takes form
heralding the full weight of the time
a new Shadow was about to be cast over me.
Dark has cloaked my deeds up until now.
The Blood Moon enchants with its splendour
and ultimately the reflected light from the Sun
is embraced by illuminated corners of my heart—
subdued, as it reflects tentative forgiveness
rewarding me for changing my ways.
I’m set in my ways.
I yearn for unconditional forgiveness
of the ingrained dark corners of my heart—
reflecting my own perception of me.
A Blood Moon stirs fear in the heart
as my darkly disturbing thoughts reveal secrets.
Old shadows are difficult to cast off—
taunted by the recall of lighthearted times.
When the Penumbral Eclipse faded
remorse latched onto the dark side
of the moon on its arc to set in the west.
Boldly colored days each Fall give hope
that a new beginning; a new season
will ease his sorrows and help him cope
with her absence, but he longs for a reason.
Life meant nothing. Often, people queried
his state of mind and wished him the best.
He always looked gaunt and rather wearied.
With his wife's whereabouts, he was obsessed.
Daily, Edward felt grief heighten inside
his heart, wondering how he could've been blind,
and why in him she felt she couldn't confide.
Never, to his beloved had he ever been unkind.
Lurid, mysterious notes only provided quandaries
that left him more confused than he was before.
He'd never suspected there had been boundaries
between them. The look of remorse he sadly wore.
I felt as small as a winter’s flower
yet as tall as an old oak tree
the seconds dragged on for what seemed like hours
when my world turned in on me
the cloak I wore was of little comfort
just to bridge between present and past
I held onto this and other secrets
no more a peasant but a king at last
by the time I had finished speaking
the crowd erupted with applause
then towards me they were reaching
as the judgment came into force
the mask was meant to protect me
from what no one should have seen
a noose was placed just oh so gently
I thought it was a bit extreme
I sank into the grain that supported
absorbed deep in the fibres below
my legs gave way it was reported
I wriggled until they let me go.
Like ghosts in my pockets, weighing me down,
burdens echoing with quiet sorrow,
coiling tight around the soul in silent pain.
Some weights like umbrellas cast aside after storms,
others iron shackles, rusted, locked in permanence—
all carried unseen, but deeply felt.
Knots in the spine, scars engraved on the mind,
tangled threads, riotous roots of clinging shadows—
held tight, wrapped in sorrow and guilt.
The weight of unspoken words,
unfinished tasks, unkept promises,
and unmanageable memories—
all soaked deep in regret.
Letting go is not an option
when remorse is all you have,
and anguish your only friend.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these ‘it might have been’—John Greenleaf Whittier
without deep regret
apologetic parrot ~
squawks m
i n d racked a
n
g
u i s h
When I was small
the starlings roosted one by one
on grandma’s party line wire
(like jittery black clothespins)
to bandy their gossip back and forth
until the wire hummed
with their inanities.
By luck my slingshot found its mark.
One toppled from the wire soundlessly
like a clothespin blown loose in the wind.
The others rattled on, oblivious,
no questions asked.
It dropped straight down.
I ran to see where it had fallen
(headlong into the trash)
expecting it to be stunned only
and I would laugh as it flew off.
There,
between a flattened can of Campbell soup
and a Brillo pad used up,
and bleeding from one empty eye
the still warm bundle of feathers
looked ready for flight.
(so fly!)
But when it did not spread its wings
or chatter any more
I cradled death in my hands
(soft and almost weightless)
and cried
as I buried both victim and weapon
in the same box.
and so words not said
like rusty nails through my palms
glare crimson, ablaze
If desert-lands of remorse can be crossed ahead, enough,
Cage deemed as open sky, if my wings can be spread, enough.
Yon, when the winking sky is found willing to welcome me,
If just half-closed window can be all-ajar made, enough.
To set foot-tracks on hills, for long remaining a pipe dream,
If just its tracks drawn on a map can I well tread, enough.
Rather than getting clogged on polluted past memories,
If with the breath of caprice my lungs can be fed, enough.
Not so fair to foul destiny’s fame, though found notorious,
If summons be sent to the ill choices I made, enough.
Who’s appellant and advocate? Who’s witness and the judge?
When curtains raised, if I can prove my acting grade, enough.
Impressing sky if I can just get my wings spread, enough,
Leaving hind all regrets if I can walk ahead, enough.
________________________________________
Ghazal |14.03.2025 |
Note: Inspired, a Gujarati poem by Dr Neelee Desai, no translation:
Just how much courage does it take?
To stick to the plan that I’d made
And why should I be afraid?
To live my own destined fate
When all I could do is hate
All the things that I have said
Can’t I just stay in the bed?
With no sorrows and no regret
But the image of it in my head
Keeps on replaying until the end
Grief is an earthquake, sudden and unforgiving,
Splitting the ground beneath your feet,
Turning the familiar into fractured ruin.
It shakes the foundations of who you are,
Toppling memories like crumbling buildings,
Leaving nothing but dust where laughter once stood.
Aftershocks linger in the quiet moments,
A tremor in your chest, a crack in your voice.
You try to rebuild, but the landscape has changed-
The world tilts differently without them in it.
Some days, you step forward, thinking the worst has passed,
Only to stumble as the earth quivers once more,
A song, a scent, a whispered name-
And suddenly the fault lines widen,
Swallowing you whole in a moment’s collapse.
Times move on, but the wreckage remains,
Slowly, painfully, you clear the rubble,
Learning to build around the gaps,
Knowing the scars will never fade,
But hoping, one day, the ground will hold steady again.
And as the years pass, you realize-
No matter how many walls you raise,
Or how many roads you pave over the broken earth,
You are still standing in the ruins of what once was,
Waiting for a home that will never be rebuilt.
Of all those memories that come around,
each with boundless beauty or fond remorse,
yours flood frenzied dreams with troubling abound
of all those memories
My mind, muddled, alters its centered course.
Your voice echoes with its hypnotic sound
as I fervently flail, seeking the source.
With desperate hope, lost memories found,
my senses stricken with electric force,
I sharply slump into muted astound
of all those memories.
Simply complex - sign on the dotted line - no questions asked....
A heartbeat of thrilling intuition- a perfect fit without hesitation...
Not a moment to ponder - hurried by the mighty dollar
And from the distant morning rise - could It be deceit cast upon my eyes
Once the ink - in big bold print, lie upon the paper of consent - oh the contract of enpowered display...will remind you of a debt to repay - in silent remorse....unable to change
A thrilling moment quickly fades away
I wish I could hear
your voice
one last time
“Hey”
you would say softly
“I love you”
you would quote
literature by heart
Tolstoy,
Steinbeck,
Vonnegut
and then
you would
quote something of mine
“because I know you by heart too”
you’d tell me
in that style you had,
you would say softly
«??????»
(“Prashai”)
one of our little
rushing secrets
“goodbye”
and
“forgive me”
in one phrase
but you never told me
these things
and then you were gone
because of my words
and did I ever
forgive myself?
She read and what she saw,
The oblivion and reminiscent thoughts
She knew, she would be in an awe,
If she knew what i said and what my mind froughts.
Confusion, i am living in, I can't state
Maybe better if i can do more
To tell her, i am there, so please wait,
But for what? She loves me no more.
I cry, rave, deem myself unworthy,
But if I be of worth one day, she would die
And to that poor soul all material and earthy
With smiling face would say goodbye??
Akash sangwan
Locked within the confines of my mind’s dark cell,
Both convict and captor, a self made hell.
Each thought a shackle, every memory a bar,
Confined by my own mind, a prisoner of psychological scars.
In this self-imposed exile, I am utterly alone,
A solitary figure locked in a world of dark, cold stone.
Forsaken by hope, abandoned by light,
I dwell in the shadows, a prisoner of everlasting night.
These lonely walls echo my silent screams,
As I fight with demons, trapped in dreadful dreams.
I reach out for redemption, but find none there,
In this self made prison, my remorseful soul lays bare.
For I am the architect of my own demise,
Sentenced to solitude, beneath storming skies.
Cramped within the confines of my own creation,
Condemned to a life of eternal damnation.
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