Shadows dance, moons embrace.
Soughed sounds of human wishes in the wind alight,
dreams enlace.
Truths with tales,
sagas fall from firmament night,
time scales.
Mind fun,
echoed insight,
spun.
Shadows dance, moons embrace.
Sagas fall from firmament night,
spun.
The Lake of Charity
The hill stood tall and stately,
Wind soughed through its sparse trees.
Below a lake spread, at times calm,
At times quite horribly stormy.
He knelt in meditation and asked for:
Prayer, the source of renewal,
Patience, the capacity for tolerance,
Pardon, a grant of friendship.
Three rivers flowed down the hill
and joined together as they swirled rapidly
towards a cascade of heavenly mercy.
Remember O man, that the name of that hill,
Never forgotten, is called Golgotha.
The waters irrigate our devious hearts
And change it into a lake of charity.
She felt old and tired,
Womb heavy with child.
Around, the stately cypress trees
Stood guard, protecting the dead,
And one especially
That lay peacefully in its tomb.
Wind softly soughed
And moaned like muted sirens
That she recollected seeing
In an old magical tome.
Yet no magic could bring back
The lover that had died
Just a few weeks ago.
The embryo moved slightly in its place
As if it knew who rested in the tomb,
And she wondered if the father
Had also moved in his earthly womb.
No tears fell. She left a rose,
Dark violet and perfumed
On the cold marble slab,
Turned and wended her way home
To take care of the one
That would soon be born.
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.
The weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair!
...tribute to the poetry of Dylan Thomas
********
A weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
...tribute to the poetry of Dylan Thomas
********
A weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
The Weather'd Glass
The weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
...tribute to the poetry of Dylan Thomas
********
A weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
A weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
********
...a tribute to the poetry of Dylan Thomas.
Happiness in a Wrong way – Zamreen Zarook
In the notion of seeking happiness,
I thought of stepping in to nonsense,
I dream I could find success,
But I had only little access.
Every attempt that I lend,
It was an utter failure at the end,
My life was full of difficult bend,
But God is always there as a good friend.
My deeds travel in various ways,
Some times in subways,
Or in times it goes in highways,
But I had the belief, God is there always.
North and south families surrounded,
East and west friends are rounded,
Every time fear on death soughed,
I am trapped, and my merits are loaded.
...dedicated to Dylan Thomas
A weathered glass in harbour deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me,
a steep, sequestered grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then it's gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans the tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair,
consigned to quiver restlessly.
Ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
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