Short Singeing Poems

DJ Drop the needle on the record
And send strong waves singeing my synapses, 
Nudging my senses, confounding each cord 
Composing my sinews to move in accord, 
Enthralled by the notes dancing on the staff....

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Somewhere the sun's glowing,
And man's cursing the heat.
The parched wind is blowing,
Singeing the drying wheat.
And man swears in knowing...
Somewhere it is raining:
The gray galvanized sky
Has loosed a liquid burst.
God's water can held high
Has quenched the dust of thirst.
And still man's complaining....

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THE TONGUES OF FIRE 
THAT ERUPTED FROM YOUR SKULL
SEARCHED IN VAIN AND FAILED
TO SMOTHER THE FIRE OF MY LIFE 
THAT WAS HIDDEN IN A CROOK,
 AND FLOWED AS WATER.
BUT MY FIRE OF LUST WAS PUT OUT BY IT 
AND THE ASHES 
REACTED WITH MY TEARS 
AND BURNED
SINGEING ME INSIDE AND OUT 
ALAS ! IT NEVER  GAVE BACK 
THE FINAL  KISS I GAVE YOU...

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Soul,
I see you creeping
Under the crushed wavelengths
I can hear you weeping
Below the wilted water terrace
And you’re holding my heart.
And it’s burning your hands.

Gray,
Your cryptic veil touches my cheeks
They flush absent of color
Under the ripples of your aching
And you’re listening to my mind.
And it’s singeing your ears....

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If God has a heart,
What pains man must cause him:
the killing, the cheating,
the lying, the hurting.

Does He weep 
when we war?
Does He mourn
our senseless deaths?
Does He despair
of our willful blindness?

He is God-- He must feel
every lonely death,
every lost breath...
billions of dots of pain
and grief, each singeing,
burning His divine heart....

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Thoughts singeing
Or love singing?

As we choose
Without excuse
Coordinate of preference 
Following the fragrance 
Of love divine
As we align
We provide no anchor
For hostility or rancour
Embracing the leper
As also the beggar
With a carefree unbound spirit
Judging neither fault nor merit
We are and we be
In our moment to moment entrée

Free

01-August-2020...

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Lust
The insatiable fires of sight
Singeing your flesh
Savoring your aching cries
She’ll whisper ecstasy
Succulent and nigh

Love
Pooling in creviced night
Suckled and smeared
Pulsating with every drop
She’s tasted your conviction
Serrated and wrought

Fate
Dried pungent hues
Immutable and imbued
Morning withered with dread
Silence speaks
Your marriage is dead...

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He came to save.
But the cross was the crux
Of the Father's dire demand.
So he went.

He came to give life,
But was lifted, left on a tree,
Hanging in the singeing sun.
So he died.

He came to reap,
But the fruit must first die,
Buried in the belly of the earth.
So he budded..

He sprouted the third day,
Fruited—a hundredfold, and more.
Still fruiting because
He came to save....

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Dancing round
The flickering flames
Skirting the problem
Avoiding the truth
Turning a blind eye
Words left unsaid 
Emotions hidden 
Pretending, evading 
Singeing our finger tips
Heating up and making larger
The space between us
Unable to look me in the eye
A problem that grows 
Fanned and fed by silence 
Till we get burned
And scars are left
It spreads and consumes 
Wild, out of control
So easy to prevent 
Now more difficult to stop...

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It was night sin
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading
the white secret of pain
in the hollow of a mayhem.


Till every blunder takes a
downward flight striping the outsized 
image of a kill. His flames are
now singeing the eyebrows of angels.

His  foes have entered the compound.
The black was alluringly looped in
a stream of blood. Death did not
wait for a ceremony.

Lips forgetting the golden sheep,
tongue apologies for the wronged earth. 



Satish Verma...

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COPLA 101 RESOLUTION : This Bad Guy World

Born helpless in a void without rights
Each a  naked being in tow :
A wordless spell

Purveyors of beliefs through myths by rites
Know this well enough while kneading dough :
Ephemeral

The howling spirit wanders like wind
Would wrap its angst round any pillar :
Turns not to soul

No quest can shut out the singeing din
Than the feeling of being forever :
Is that a goal

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014...

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Hearing subversive, oft-hand remark,
Callously spreading rumor on a lark.
Silhouette of angst o'er mind parks.
Deceitful soul's vast refuge a bulwark,
keeping mind's sentient eye in the dark,
Still short-sighted vision veils a quark,
But to dry, subliminal tinder won't hark.
Fueled consciences' flint strikes spark,
Fanning winds o'er tender psyche arc.
Singeing flame peels soul's, dense bark;
Contrasting light to mind painfully stark




quark: elementary particles having electric charges...

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