Not pas dans l'autre
il est en nous-même;
nous le new year...
more pour reveil,
nous avons besoin
of l'autre...
love is not
in the other he is
in U.S;
We found him...
But to find out,
we need
the other...
earth sings and swings through space
blue pearl's nascent sostenuto
sun's rouge reveil blush dusts her face
space pings as new world rings
angels praise God's high hopes
Lind 68868 format designed by poet Robert Lindley.
(Thank you Robert, for your kind critique, and helping me to correct the syliable count!)
posted 7th November, 2019
Note: Job 38:4-7
Psalms 104:5
Ecclesiastes 1:4
(The sustainable earth)
The Clown
Those clowns don't ammuse me anymore,
For I choose to see what others won't.
That smile camouflage the scars he wears,
Among his laugh wispers the agony he bears,
Those chirpy eyes of his burries thousands of tears,
All this ache and none to be shared.
So he puts on a mask
And pretended everything was alright,
Coz this life is a spate of wars
And you can not win every fight.
So he faked his grin to bluff the squad,
And world applouded at his fraud.
For years he had been wise,
Silently mocked these mortals as none could feel the missery behind those eyes.
But at the doorsteps of his impending demise he gave up on his cruidity,
He removed his mask to reveil that naked face,
But the world frowned on this nudity.
The Awakening, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s poem : Réveil
I’m back in the bosom of poetry !
Decidedly wealth in the million
Has rejected my fullfilment,
And this’s a sad denouement.
As for me, the chosen proverb to apply :
Water clear and pure and this bitter bread
Never to go without, as with
The gent strumming little tunes on the rebec !
As with me the bed of problems multiply :
The long white nights of darkening dreams,
Just as with me, the eternal hopes
Striding from mornings to evenings !
So’s with me ethics and aesthetics !
I am he on whom poesy laid its indelible stamp
Rhyming staggeringly fantastic lines
In the penumbra of a smoking oil lamp !
I am the soul chosen by God
To keep entranced my contemporaries
Through such rare and fine refrains
Sung on an empty stomach, O ! Serene Heavens !
I’m back in the bosom of poetry.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Why must the man hide behind his mask.
The false illusion to dazzle all.
His true emotions burried behind a deciet built wall.
The pen can cut like a razor a haunt the eternal night.
Is not the killer the victem.
The play but a test of true character.
Will you cheer the villian that that is me?
Embrace the pain and taste the darkness
Fear drains like sweat.
For to long the words lay vacant apon the page.
I wonder does she question in her empty thoughts.
As I regret are meeting yet ask for her hand.
Why must we live behind this mask
will others see through to what ive done.
see blood apon my lips smell the death apon the wind.
Will I be forced to reveil my true face.
Will you cheer the villian ask?
Sit and say its great theater never knowing what you see is no
illusion.
Applaud the violence ignore the screams.
We all wear a mask for life is a illusion
look beyond what you see for I assure you
it's far worse than it seems.
Face to Face with Fear
The burning of flesh,
The smell of skin,
The fear of scars
from within.
A glance in the mirror,
A look on the face,
A tear from the eye,
when you feel out of place.
The pain and suffering,
one may go thru,
Wakin' up everyday
having people stare at you
Only time will tell
How it will heal
Taking off the bandages
not knowing what it will reveil