Sepulchre Poems

shedding sorrow's grasp

 sequestered in a   
      somber sepulchre 
where I relinquish 
              dead memories
and iced nightmares
       upon resting ivy,
twisted 
    with rotting thistle
I'm no longer 
    able to breathe 
             pulverized pain
as I shed this
      stitched-on hollow skin
resuscitation under 
               Jupiter's moon

The Return

A tenebrous void occupies my soul
like a queasy, dark, wintry cloud
hanging low and heavy with sleet and frost.
No gelid wind blows it away
and I despair.  I cannot forget the dead.

An empty, lonely chapel still beacons.
It stands alone 
amongst the tall dark pines
of an abandoned forest.
Inside, the dim light filters poorly
through dirty broken stained glass.

There's nothing inside but dust.
No chairs, no pews 
for the weary traveller.
I sit on the cold slab tomb,
wonder who was laid to rest
inside the sepulchre.
Then did I realise I was alive.
All memories stored deep inside me.
The waking of empathy
especially to the self, is painful.
How oft had I tried to erase
my thoughts on you?
 
I leave the disused chapel 
and return to my empty home.
I still think of you.

I Miss

I miss every bit of my childhood;
memories in a sepulchre
buried too deep to exhume
with my rusty shovel.
should I keep digging 
or let those fond 
days of old 
simply 
be?

Borderline Personality Dodoitsu

We Are All the Same
Listen to the reeds as they sway apart;
Hear them speak of lost friends.
At birth, you were cut from your bed,
Crying and grasping in separation.
Everyone listens, knowing your song.
You yearn for others who know your name,
And the words to your lament.
We are all the same, all the same,
Longing to find our way back;
Back to the one, back to the only one.
Rumi


When songs are sung in tandem
Ambience of speech is smooth
Devoted eyes dote your voice
Obsessed puppy love

When words echo tender tones
Glowing like sapphire gemstones
Not veiled behind metaphors
Tranquil tongue sounds calm

As triggers summon demons
Vivid verses turn vicious
Rage screams like a million crows
Heart shudders with fear

Soul struggles to beat and breathe
Pain feels like paper in rain
Silence is your only guide
Lonely sepulchre

Eruptions begin to ease
An anthem of angels chant
Rainbows colour fading greys
Lovebirds serenade

Unbearable Beauty In Black

Bells summoned as they tolled the sad departure
Of my poor mother’s sudden demise.
I led the short funeral procession
Towards her eternal resting sepulchre.

Before her black ebony casket was closed,
I looked intently down at her, still beautiful.
Her dress, her favourite, all lace in black.
That was her last and final wish.

They laid her in a damp black tomb
Surrounded by tall dark cypress trees,
A breeze sighed and soughed softly in sorrow
While I stood head bowed down in grief. 
 
Lifeless leaves fell in yellow-red bunches
And covered up her ghostly grave
No tears streamed down my face, heartbroken,
Strewed instead black roses, fragrant and sweet.

On the Other Side

SEQUEL: Sebastian Jnr Ft Poet Em Em

On the other side, lies
Blind heart: swimming in his sweat
Heading to verge of nowhere in eve
To dredge his sepulchre
For who knows? He said
Of what rain the fountain would pour

On the other side, stuck
Half-closed effete eyes,
Fueling by fountain of "at least",
to sleep not.
But to rubberneck life in reverse

So tell the snake 
To not walk his path.
This is a rock with pebbles
For legs with no nails walks not

Sip not with him
From the gloomy tears 
He seeks in night..
Oh!..Sit on the other side of terrace,
Is a prisoner of war: whose eyes might not catch 'morrow

(2)

Where chicks are entitlement 
to wild eagles - daily meal, 
and the latter are carcasses 
to sky hunters for fat belly

Where eye-catching dreams 
could only come true 
at times the nose grunts 
and during every moment 
all bodies strike poses
for clear and clean shot

Yes, this very side
we value sewerages over beverages
open skies over thatched roofs
and whenever the moon visits
our lips widen their coast

St Helena

I stayed on this famous island for a little while,
fortress, prison and avant-garde Bonaparte style.
Rigged charm with antiquities slow train,
governors constitution keeping royal patriots vain.
200 years after the mysterious death of the king,
at his grave, I was wondering, ‘You poor little thing’.
Another sort of great Alexander that loves to conquer,
taken on the establishments in crisis that ponder.
Ideals of restless doomed heroes celebrated,
taken war to higher constitution elevated.

St. Helena the wife of Emperor Constantine,
went on to pilgrimage to find the sacred terrain.
Building the church of the Holy Sepulchre,
the place of Christ crucifixions culture.
Priestess of Avalon and patron saint of discoveries,
island of sacred through Christ self recoveries.
Total sovereignty and its dying destiny,
luring fatal admirations penalty. 
No escaping from repeating history.

The Scatheless Soul

Unseen but ubiquitous,
Savage and surreal,
If not curated but contagious,
Annihilative and aerial,

Then lurking, now loose,
You are the silent stone sepulchre,
Tangling, tormenting; transient truce,
An asphyxiating, aggravating and apocalyptic aperture,

You might among countless thriving throng induce fear,
Cause bountiful bouts of darkness and despair,
You might perhaps possess lives of mankind in multitudes,
Cripple economies and ravage revenues.

Say, can you cease the blowing of wildly winds?
Say, can you banish a bridal blush or a child’s caprice?
Say, can you hold the hanker of a koel for its lilting lyrics, while it sings?
Say, can you shackle the Sun, or rob its rays with your bitter malice?

You are nothing but an atomic annihilator, a sombre spree,
In vain you strive to rule over our spirits free,
We would surmount all sufferings and decimate your derisive decree.

Saptarshi Mukherjee

Day of Silence

Day of Silence

A shredded temple curtain lies
Upon a shattered floor;
Silent Sabbath,
Daylight weeps before a stone,
Birds withhold their songs,
Dawn - undecided -
Rain - holding its breath -
Sunlight pacing -
Flowers fragrance -
Wandering in the shadows -
Jeers and taunts
Run from their echoes -
Earth's quaking - stilled 
Broken palms - quiet dirges -
Whispers tiptoeing past
Stunned dreams - broken -
While midnight stands watch
At a tomb
Yet in the dawn
Guards an empty sepulchre
When "Alleluia" -
Thundering joy -
Rings out
For this was no ordinary man
Shouted from Heaven's rooftops!

The Lonely Poet

*****This repost went almost unnoticed, but I always was proud of its message: every artist that has an influence also has a responsibilty to his/her audience or reader****




The poet and the lonely road, betwixt his netherworld abode,
   in canyons deep, and in seldom trodden creeps,
Always secrets, secrets....
   too kept ----
   he has made his humble abode, in the dark alone,
   he sleeps ----
   with vipers and white (sepulchre) tombs
   (alone)

He does not see the meadow, and daisies,
   (rising sun)
   nor words of wisdom on his tongue;
   fall away, to dark netherworld abodes....

Poet be he not, 'til fellowship and gratitude 
   be his home, and grace in word be his love;
   of good cheer to all concerned and more ----
   should even shadow knocketh, 
   of this he writes 


Written in 2012

Passionate Pacifist Plea

Should hearts obey man or God?
This is so dirt simple — 
Two sheaf ears in a pacifist pod

Fear thee anthem thunder
more than the
firmament lightning rod?

There’s no question
which one
gets the soul loyalty nod

Doesn’t dove eyes
starry follow  the Celestial sky will?
Compassionate commandment 
engraved in stone:
A holy decree, “Thou shall not kill”

This passionate pacifist plea
deserves an universal bleat

War paint ain’t peace palette proper
Napalm hope being
dropped from a camouflage chopper

Silo echo prayers,
whisper incensed Arrows 
are wavy boasting
Cemetery sepulchre rows
ere manicured revelry neat

Olive branch naysayers
extend digital particles fungi
Angry flow bloodstream
trigger the plutonium release

Obey a loving God,   not hateful man, 
ought not we?
Bullet dodge thermal extinction plan
is this scarlet ink sob, 
pacifist plea

Who Moved the Stone

Who moved the stone?           
On Sunday - who indeed?                    
Evangelists extol                                     
A most baseless creed

If the stone were shifted
As a shot-put heft    
By some improbable
Conspiracy - or theft            

And Peter in his madness
Encountered but the air  
Never having witnessed       
His visage or His glare
  
And no angelic radiance
(That diadems were dim)
Met Mary at the somber
Sepulchre of Him

Images of Corruption

In the famed halls of tainted justice,
on granite pedestals, 
stand carved images of corruption
Sculpted stone countenances, 
with etched somber appearances,
pillar levitate in Roman atriums
of grand pall splendor 
Wicked dead visages
placed disembodied erect
in the mausoleum corridors
Sullen sepulchre sentries
to the crypt chambers of the living 
governance sinful body
Graven images of corruption,
who clashed amongst themselves
in the mirrored days 
of their fleshly reflections
In the vapor wisp of a contentious life,
they were united in a singular unjust cause — 
to establish blood oppression in sanguine perpetuity
Their unturned heads now peer straightway
down the dark judgment hall,
whose steps lead to the pit of perdition
Bottomless fallen souls ... 
vertigo shrieking echoes
silently muffled
inside carved images of corruption

Bamboozlement

Bamboozlement, a joy to thy heart
And thou gloat at their misfortunes
Maliciously misleading them with tricks
Bury this private property, a plea
Otherwise, you'll earn thy pay in full
One's joy comes from good wishes
Zap thy zest for schadenfreude
Let go of those wanton moral filths 
Embrace the joy from good wishes
Maintain my moral message and 
Enjoy big in a little planet
Never should thou forget
The day of thy sepulchre sleep

Lover of Lies

Feed them,
feed them lies
Feed them the lies they love so well

Give them gut rot,
make their distended bellies swell
Excreting lies so disgusting,
they leave an awful, putrid smell

Feed them,
feed them more lies
Let them taste the rotten fruit
that yield the swarm of flies

Let them take the moldy bread,
and put it in the maggot dip
Open wide their sepulchre mouth,
and spread those crooked lips

Shovel the lies down their throat,
let it come out of their nostril
Lover of lies who love to boast
about all the souls they do kill

Feed them,
give them what they want
Feed them lies,
til it come out of their eyes
Haters of truth, will never hear it
Don't give them that, please don't

Lover of lies,
lover of sin
Vomit out the vile lies,
then lick it up again

Hounds of iniquity,
got the lying tick and the lying flea
Love to wallow in the filthy mud,
love to lick their paws covered in blood

Keep feeding them lies,
lies they love to hear and tell
Greedy dogs who never get enough,
send them all straight to hell

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