Love is a similitude diva of a butterfly soaring- A Song of Nazrul Islam Babu (Niaz Mohammad Chowdhury)
Love is a similitude diva of a butterfly soaring higher on a flight of blindfolded pastime
A restful walk through the memory lane, a glimpse into the mirror of a tranquil mind, to be rueful, once again
Some of all these are longing, some are doodling to yearn
The churn of the longing to meet the asymptotic is no more to be nominative, still undone.
Yet again, love thrive to reborn, to beseech lover's reach, nonetheless
Some ponder love a heart song, a ripple on a pristine mirror
Once broken, the stain is irreversible to realm into oblivion
Eternally bonded, to reign through the saga of longing again.
11-9-2024
November, Dallas
He came in human flesh,
So He would see someone like me,
He wore the robes of pain, grief and struggles,
So He could relate to my emotions.
He took the fall,
So He could understand why I stumble,
He left his lofty throne to walk down the streets of mortals,
To show them the path to immortality,
Desirous that they would listen.
He took on the body that was susceptible to time,
So that He would conquer its recalcitrant hold,
He came in our similitude,
Bound by the elements of nature,
Bound by His creations,
So that He would return in
the volume of all that was written about Him.
He was chauffeured by dawn,
Called to slumber by the night,
Until He had opened the door for us out of darkness,
Until time laid under His feet.
May 8, 2024.
She came out of a shadow on the bedroom wall.
Phem men-ing
pheel ings,
phore-tellings,
wings under her pearlescent feet
raven hair swirling about her face.
You cannot see her face,
but there is a face within her face,
and you can see, it emerges and disappears,
eyes cannot catch sight of it, but
you recognize a similitude of yourself.
Aghast you deny any mote of angelic divinity,
and yet
you are within her,
and she is showing you yourself,
as you cross a bridge
between the two lobes of your brain.
You are dragging a pair of heavy,
clumsy wings behind your body,
they are armor clad in a base metal.
The angel fills you with wild innocent desires.
Her seeking love writhes like a serpent
around your body.
Lips part within her nakedness
She speaks:
"Stand upright upon that arching span,
let those heavy wings fall into the abyss below.
Let go of any thought
of both you and I.
Fall.
I will fall with you,
all the way
all the way
all the way
until we reach that empyrean sky,
above all those
who assume they are one bit lower,
or one jot higher
than any kind of holiness.
THE TWO UNLIKE-POLE ANALOGY
Analogically, this simplicity of poles might communicates
extensive comparison of things life usually complicate.
Just as the tale of "magno magnets",
Like-poles repulsively repels even off a border
and unlike-poles abnormally attract one another.
The north pole of two magnets are set asunder;
Opposite poles of two magnets attract each other,
but the like-poles are overly at loggerheads,
Similitude to electric charges which postulate same rules:
Like-charges repel, and unlike-charges attract.
This theory sums up the summary of a proven fact.
The irony of life is, two different souls are match-made,
We're bedazzled with such common rarity that doesn't fade.
It's sporadic to have two people with same traits
or cosmic (birthday) twins becoming soul mates.
By taking a leaf out of the analogy of unlike-poles,
attraction is established and so is unlike souls.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright©January,2023.
SCARS
Show me one who does not evolve
And I'll show you the grave.
A chemical reaction that comes and goes is love,
so is heartbreaks which turns your fire off;
Causing life scars and memoirs,
inducing painful ecstasy and tremors.
Are scars ugly and imperfect?
Mine's not; they never go away like life's precept
but keep waging like the windstorm.
To mortality, imperfection is a norm,
Today's bruises similitude to tomorrow are mere token.
Scars are not reminders of what's been broken
but rather, of what's been regenerated:
The EVOLUTION of being is created.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© October 27th, 2022.
They weren’t James and John of the Bible
These two risked Writings of Stark Libel:
The shown passion indescribable
Like The Guys’ for Tower of Babel;
James for his North-South Base Latitude,
John for his East and West’s Longitude;
Grant, then, their lone similitude…
John one might forgive some attitude
Pardonable love for solitude
While not absurd his solicitude….
At least, John showed normal gratitude
And his points would make with certitude.
James” tongue you can’t bear with fortitude;
One sentence could gather Multitude,
His voice An Unbearable Amplitude,
His face Poorest Advert for Pulchritude…
In similitude of spirit and gaze
I see much in you that you see in me,
for in me are your Arthurian ways -
old man, I am your son and proud to be.
In the dark days and darker nights of us
when the Angel of Death entered our ken
I saw a light in all that you compass
and repute you among the best of men.
So it is in the time of tide and flow
that between us there was ebb and distance,
yet I know I will miss you when you go
and hold dear the tides of least resistance.
I have a son, and love him more I can’t -
he in time might forget you but I shan’t.
Written: October 2004
They were in her mind,
She pencilled them in her heart,
They came forth from her,
Asimov’s children,
She bore them,
One after other came forth,
Generation after generation,
They were transformed,
There was a transition,
Artificial intelligence hit the
the crescendo of the technology world,
It has held bound in the corners of the world,
It infiltrated the realms of space,
Agile robots and androids
interface with humans,
Humans are overly
dependent on them,
The laws of robotics
have their shortcomings,
So also robots are flawed beings.
They are no match for humans,
Despite their pitfalls and stumblings.
March 29, 2022.
“I am afraid.
I am much too afraid to utter anything.” I said.
“And, why are you afraid?
Can you explain exactly?” He asked.
“I am afraid of particularly this.
This whole concept of freedom of expression.
It never quite worked for me.
It never really did.” I cleared my throat.
Words. Stronger words.
Bitter Words.
Words pouring with a similitude
Of Bullets in Bulletin.
Words. Justified with every inch.
Hurtful words.
It never quite worked for me.
It never really did.
Only the world turned into
Something fearful.
Like a haunted nightmare.
And I kept on waiting.
For the drop scene…
Kept waiting and waiting…
“Don’t worry about them.”
He spoke in a softer voice.
"It is never a story of them.
They will either help or they won’t.
It is never about them.
It is about the inner strength
That we carry within us.
The words that get generated
Within us through hurts, through wounds
The words that we carry within us.
As a natural remedy. Within and Beyond."
He finished his sentence.
And there was a long...long pause.
And words were pouring in italics again.
To hold the words again, higher enough to the sky.
January 10, 2021
So much to solicit, but with substance excluded,
she mimics intimacy, but leaves one secluded.
Flatteries slip off her tongue like honey's sultry sweetness.
"Come to this incensed bed for pleasure's soft caress."
Like a crafty serpent's spiel, her lips slither stellar speech.
Secure your spirit, flesh, and soul; she'll sample some of each.
With silken negligees, she'll sustain a slave's stronghold,
stealing one's strength like the lust for shiny gold.
One's best possession is sequestered, that of self, a sword within,
squandered to a showy stranger, a satanic mannequin.
Leaving spouse and offspring grieving, an egregious price to pay,
some have spurned their own cisterns to search for soggy clay.
Listen closely, my son, with stern discretion be wise.
For she will lead you in similitude as Eden's sad demise.
12-8-2020
References: Proverbs 5 & Proverbs 7
"Flee sexual immorality. Every sin that a man does is outside the body, but he who commits sexual immorality sins against his own body." 1 Corinthians 6:18
I will pedal fast to recover.
To the bookstore! To the library!
Wild for books! The feel, the touch.
Those pages fast or slow, they flip for me.
I dine on every sweet and salty word.
Their covers bid me stop, their hue marquee
cause me to laugh or weep, my mind transferred.
Wild about books! Their brains! Their brawn! I breach
a poet’s ecstasy — a golden speech.
A cemetery stone, my tablet cold.
An epitaph I read — the shards drool.
Those pretty words! I long to finger gold.
Instead reflective glass, the story’s cruel.
Wild about books! Their brains! Their brawn! I breach
a poet’s ecstasy — a golden speech.
The words, similitude of braille, lose face.
The utter joy, the scent of books, the sass.
In this isolation, I lose my place.
The ink of deep blue sky and green fresh grass.
I will pedal fast to recover.
To the bookstore! To the library!
Wild for books! The feel, the touch.
4/27/2020
Wild Poetry Contest
Sponsor is Anthony Slausin
callous clouds cremating
hoisted horizon hibernating
mystic mirror birthed
meagre mimick mounted
pulpy punctures lent
lanky lust wretched
bounty boulevard bruised
humpty-dumpty craving cruise
perforated pilgrims puked
sassy similitude seeped'n
vulnerable voluptuous trees
dark dribbles creaked
airy aura tripped
nocturnal nature gripped.
'20:04:12:09:29
Note: Of nocturnal nature. Inspired by a picture saved from Temi Otedola's.
I was asleep
when darkness died
Radiant joy lit up my fertile dreams,
the famine tears
all were purity dried
My corona eyes opened wide
within the quiet void
of slumber death similitude
I saw the stellar light of truth
kill that withering abyss of flowering lies
rooted in gross darkness
Cloaked tick-tock whispers tried
to fear alarm rouse me
from my supernova lullaby peace
But the rapid receding
of the corpse cold eclipse nightshade
Gave way to the warmth
of the dawn star of a bright new day
When the terror of darkness died,
the last breath of midnight stopped
Then the glow of infinity,
gloriously,
opened my blessed born-again eyes
Dedicated to my dear friend, Alexis Y,
a most talented poetess.
— Romantic Warrior
Are You Misguided Or Wise?
Written: by Miracle man
12-27-2019
Words too quickly spoken expose our thoughts,
words convey our ideas which are often ersatz.
We carefully parse and throw at others as darts,
because the tongue speaks what fills our hearts.
God is the one who has granted us our voices,
HE also gave us freedom to make word choices.
To be used to glorify HIM, and blessing of others,
without intent to hurt neither stranger or brothers.
Our speech exposes each, as being misguided or wise,
and what a heart dishes no tongue can disguise.
We’re exposed each time, when in anger, we lash out,
because an unbridled tongue isn’t wholly devout.
James 3:8-10 King James Version (KJV)
8 But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.
9 Therewith bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God.
10 Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be.
Source of Inspiration:
"Allah is the light of the Heaven and the earth.
The similitude of His light is a niche, wherein
There is a lamp, the lamp is, as it were, a glittering star
Kindled from a blessed olive tree.
An olive, neither of the east, nor of the west
Whose oil would glow forth, although no fire touched it,
Light upon light , Allah guides whom he pleases.”
(The light : 24:35)
I remembered her in her last days
She was weak and fragile,
Yet, the overseas call used to capture her voice
Gentle and strong.
I never saw her missed her morning prayer
I never saw her not busy,
A busy mom, she was
With raising all of us.
I touched her hand in a gentle way
The hand that prayed for me many a time
I had so many words tightened in my chest
Suffocated to hear her voice , one more time.
Life, blessed life, feels nothing without her precious memory!
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