Darkness falls and veils the land,
draping the mountains in a velvet cloth,
creeping as the tide along shoreline sand,
this darkness black, by the night is brought.
Nothing can withstand it, but falls before,
nothing can fight it's vicious onslaught,
forcing itself upon one, into the heart does it bore,
this darkness black, by the night brought.
Trapping and snaring in its perfection,
its beauty and glory by one sought,
who strives for purity, without direction,
this darkness black, by the night brought.
One cannot resist it, it's enticing onslaught,
this darkness black, by the night brought.
Revised Madonna Monologue
What are you snaring at?
Strike a Praise
All it takes is Faith
Transform into newness
Change for the better
Step up to the alter
Greatness of Moses, David, John the Baptist, Joshua and Isaac
Courage to step out
Come as you are
Beautifully made
Come out the shade of darkness into Heaven’s guiding light
Spiritual Superstar
Watch the blessing take you far
Spiritual Vogue
I fear the hounds - ever they chase;
I must keep my pace or risk their overtake.
I fear the hounds, their hurtling pursuit;
I must watch my path to avoid rock and root.
I fear the hounds - ever they follow;
My feet must not fail me if I’m to make it to the morrow.
I hear the hounds, frantic as they bay,
My life the spoils they scrabble to claim.
I hear the hounds, and I wish to just rest;
I’m so weary of fleeing and giving my best.
I hear the hounds, and the temptation is great;
I slow my pace, and my end I embrace.
I see the hounds, and my blood runs cold;
They snarl with triumph and sprint to take hold.
I see the hounds - love of pride, love of me,
The easy path, wide and sloping in gentle degrees.
I see the hounds, and myself I revile:
Am I truly that tired, or just lacking the will for self-denial?
I flee the hounds; I lengthen my stride -
I’ll give them no easy victory tonight.
I flee the hounds - oh, they howl in rage;
They were just within reach of snaring their prey.
I flee the hounds through the brambles I run,
With faith that I’ll rest with the return of the Son.
The brightest flame throws
the heaviest of shadows
trailing at your feet—
binding sorrow's fierce burden
to chains around your ankles
As day progresses,
your wishes stretch further out—
snaring the shadows
in the sharp thorns of regret
tearing with every movement
Yet shadows bear proof
that you rose up, defiant,
making your stance clear,
bearing the wild wrath of fire—
burning until night descends
All that and no cattle
Mi cattle against the
Fence
Big Bear snaring and drizzling
Mounting a cowboys defense
Tame the ego's get
Ya'll selves in line
2 marries the morning
Baby just take your time
We in zone
From the middle
You can toss to the end
They ain't looking
They ain't tryna be your friend
There's someone in charge of
Those things we can't understand
Put the pepper on it
Target out your man
Miles past the nightstand
over the plastic water bottle.
the Ambien pill dispenser
and the soul-bruised eye shades,
an arrhythmic clock
ticks like a bombed-out tank.
Of course there is the lampshade
(that lighthouse for the luminescent krill
of submerged consciousness)
that seems attached to my skin
whenever body parts want to cut ties
with a mattresses concave reality.
Secreted like a drugged shark
in the shallow recesses of a snaring drawer
a snubby barrel with six mad prayers
snugs up against a snoring bible.
The raven iridescence
of night-cats prowl a life leaking bed;
occasionally they look up
their eyes shining
as they search for an alien presence.
On its four arthritic legs the nightstand
watches;
its tour of duty still patrolling a far off
conflict of doubt and faith.
Time to turn over the hull of being,
upright any surface
with a legibly printed label,
then haul that address back in
from the far side of an arm’s reach.
Time to shuck whatever shell
still rolls unopened in the surf
of the tossed and blanketed.
As a child, I played on the banks of a stream
Snaring crawdads and fetching smooth pebbles,
While my shoes and socks became sopping wet.
Wading in the water until I’d be soaking wet
In summer I liked the coolness of the stream,
Selecting and sorting my collection of pebbles.
Smooth and quartz-like were my favorite pebbles
I would pocket them while they were still wet
Until I was through playing in the stream.
I still have pebbles I took wet from that stream.
Written November 9, 2022
The children come to visit
once or twice a week
and they are fine, I'm sure,
but not the ones I seek.
Though tall and fair and handsome,
not who I'd choose to meet:
those grubby-kneed and tousled,
the freshly apple-cheeked!
Oh, what I'd give to see them
running in the door,
coats and hats and mittens,
footprints on the floor.
Cardboard forts and castles
and the day they tried to take
sand buckets full of water
to make a bedroom lake!
Another trip to the E.R.
Superman has tried
(with a towel for a cape)
to fly above the concrete drive.
My daughter's arm is up around
a Great Dane's hulking dome.
He's all alone, she said
and declined to take him home.
The toaster that they took apart
to see how it was sprung,
signal beeps from bedrooms
where a net of wires was strung
In hope of snaring messages
from Tokyo or some Hong Kong,
lipstick on the bathroom tiles
when guests were due to come.
I play my games with memory toys,
pretend they're real again,
but something of it's gone;
It's time, time is the stealer of children.
Stony gray clouds of Winter’s night
Spurning Spring’s arrival
Snaring hearts in the darkness of hibernal chasms
Stubbornly rejecting wretched souls a rival’s kiss
Seasons of Doubt lasting beyond hope
Swiftly shackling yearnings of youth
Softly whispering slanderous words—
Surely all is hopeless
Steadily sinking toxic barbs
Surrender your foolish prayers
Serenades the Shallow Liar
Shall I lurk endlessly in my secret place
Surrounded by ashen walls of uncertainty
Stumbling blindly through dubious grime
Snagged by roaring reticence
Silently anticipating a response yet to come
Shall you withhold your words until I succumb
Submitting to bristled taunts
Subliminal sneers of unseen foes
Sauntering scoffs scarring my soul
Should I stand from upon bended knee
Surrendering my incessant pleas
Seeing with unveiled eyes at last
Sensing with tingling nerves the
Silence of my God of past
Spurning the end of
Seasons of Doubt
the crow is cawing
on the perch of silky morning
dream snaring the sleep
waken stars going to life
light of activeness wins dark
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
31/08/2021
Leaving them hopeless
Breaking their spirit
animals sometimes
humans other times
puts them in cages
torments their souls
soulless monsters
imprisoning
setting a trap
capturing
enslaving
kidnapping
tricking
snaring
hunt
delicate ruffled
rose colored geraniums
snaring honey bees
lasting all summer
lifting faces to the sun
glorifies the yard
bordering garden
a fairy like loveliness
lasting one season
We file on through scheming life's snaring wiles,
Unlearning bitter lessons sad yesterdays taught;
Biting humble pies for blunders repeatedly made,
Yet unheeding despite like fights erstwhile fought.
Our one-way treks through world's tasking routes
Are at best rehearsals for imagined second walks,
Which infeasible rematch with sad selfsame bouts,
Fleeting breath rightly nips with her cunning clocks.
We thus ought to vastly more steadfastly move,
And with every strengthened stride amply prove
The truth that living pops but once for each man;
And we simply die if we do not live while we can.
Smiling turns occur to usher in impatient others,
And hence no round retarding backward unfurls;
Our feet still unseen episodes constantly beckon
Into new climes wherein time's shadow smothers.
We must seize our fresh hour in its shiniest hue,
While rawest pep throbs in each vein and sinew.
I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings
Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings.
What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder,
Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder?
It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe,
With damning sneers and deserving derision.
What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth,
Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face?
To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly,
Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath?
Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways,
Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health.
With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime,
And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.
BROWNIE the DOBERMAN
"I'm looking at you"!
"Why, you wining"?
"Why, ya blue"?
"What's you lookin for"?
"WHY, YA BLUE"?
"Wining, sniffing exploring, what's you lookin for, boy"?
"Sniffing round all over the floor
What's wrong with you"?
Brownie, talk to me
Something up, why ya down
Sniffing around
Why, you snaring, wining
Pining
Talk to me boy!
"I'm still looking at you"!
"Why, you wining, boy"?
"Why, ya blue"?
"What's you lookin for"?
"WHY, YA BLUE my dog Brown Doberman"?
Ah!! yes this my tale of Brownie the Doberman
08/01/18
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