Should desert’s dearth unleash in life,
O wait till wafts cool breeze in life.
In grayish dry terrains, look for
A lush green oasis in life.
No life doth face only but banes,
Look for islands of bliss in life.
Life’s never just a despair of
Doldrums, soft breeze does kiss in life.
Ye need be a nigh bit patient
To cook your choicest dish in life.
Let sea of life whirl surface waves,
Deep down reigns profound peace in life.
So, cut out all the kitsch in life,
Should joy be your heart’s wish in life.
_________________________
Ghazal | 03.11.2016, revised June 2026 | breeze/wind, life, kiss, peace, wish/desire
Myopic muddle
as beauty swirls
hues of heaven
yet bypasses
static statues that
pose as sentient
beings beknighted
dawn’s divine dream
seen as bland mirror
on ebbing eyewash
cathartic colour is
a universal uplift
even for low level
lustrous earth dweller
Immersed in skewed slant
I bandy icicled retort
as though taut timing
ever swayed rigid
stone age postures
elysian echo a speck
in azurite caves
to auditory aloofness
allied to blinkered
whim ‘s wanton
plight with dull
and dim twist
dispersed among
trivial terrains
alienation personified
vessel vacuous and void
rehabilitation of
the wayward faculty
a burst balloon blip
outsider ostracised
from gilded gardens
and sumptuous bloom
of ripe recrudescence
still limp laggard
on hackneyed cue
might yet stumble on
the fig of wakening
“If the Self is the negation of difference and nondifference, if it is the negation of knower and knowable, if there is only one indivisible, all-comprehensive Absolute, how can there be the third, how can there be the fourth?”
Time makes kinetic, consciousness in space
but neither space nor time truly exist,
being but a template birthed by God’s grace,
terrains we navigate as a bliss mist.
Consciousness capsuled in form feels constrained,
since deep at its core it knows it is light,
hemmed in by space-time, to body-mind chained,
it searches for permanent bliss delight.
Power of bilocation is the key,
that as both immanent and transcendent,
poised at heart’s stillness centre, we are free,
beholding light of Self, bliss resplendent.
Dear souls, bother not about yogic states ~
We are living light that never abates
Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours - waiting for rebirth."
Quote by - Constance La France
The night extends its life longer
The temperature gets colder
The colourful landscapes fade to orange
Rustic browns shape the scene
Sepia tones indicate age
The natural world decaying
Stripped back; the bareness of finality
Stark images of looming death
The bleak imagery of winter
In still and dark whispers of light
Destruction pervading terrains of white
Enveloping the ground
Daylight returns in victory
For darkness relinquishes strength
Bare desolation is melting away
With sunlight warming earth
Glimmering shards of renewal
As buds begin taking new form
Birthing beginnings; life everlasting
Cycle of change restored
I hate to chortle at the sound of broken laughter,
Just like I refrain from weeping when dancing smoke fills my eyes . . .
But when dogs mourn alone,
I chafe my hands with the cold of tears of solitude.
Monuments and cairns I crave among the icy
Terrains, where dogs’ paws leave eternal marks —
The print-marks of an important visit,
Evidence of life on desiccated earth.
On board The Fram they sailed majestically
In the beginning,
Before joining a steam of blizzards they escaped from,
Returning home, northwards, gelid and depressing,
For a funeral of dogs,
The ceremony of age,
Attended largely by silent yaps of strayed thunder.
I see streamlets gush
On hilly terrains entwined,
Rare do rivers rush,
Silent and sure, sound they wind,
Bestirs but a shallow mind.
______________________
Tanka | 18.08.2025 | streamlet, river
It falls with grace.
Metallic bawls hail the strength of zinc roofs.
At the mercy of the thatch,
Drops drip from needle points of skeletal
Palm fronds.
Particles of rain descend on thresholds
Among dewed terrains.
The petrichor befriends the atmosphere,
Caressing limpid warmth with floating cold.
Lightning, a white dancing Anaconda, races with speed,
Filling the tenebrous plains with lights of hope.
Troubled skies ululate through the power of thunder.
I always recline on that liquid voice!
Rainmakers cream their palms
And roast fresh leaves of
Epochal petals
Plucked from somnolent trees.
Bubbles, green and full of life, puke,
Filling up the mouths of burning woods.
Grey darkness suggests the pleasant wars of
May through October,
When distant wayward drops
Trickle before the deafening deluge.
I hail the blandishments of July
For the society of fattened yams and the
Worthy tendrils —festooned confetti of ceremonial
Harvests.
Droughts yawn in vain when the attitude of
Wet seasons befriends the skies,
Yielding fecund grimes that grace the soil.
My Wife
Let me tell you about my Wife who's an amazing blend of sugar and spice and everything nice.
She Loves me in many ways even if she drives me crazy insane she's my rock, my shield Maiden my very own G.I Jane.
She has class, she has sass, a smile so bright it knocks me on my ass, Her heartfelt embrace and gentle caress turns my heart into a puddly mess.
We may bicker we may fight I still love my Wife with all my might, my soul and my heart she has gripped very tight.
A Wife who any Man would be lucky to have at his Side and She's mine, Like Soulmate Cranes may our Love continue to Soar through the skies over rough terrains.™?©?®?
By Shawn Muñoz
landscapes
inside
the mindseye
thoughts
pictured
in
reresentations
topographcal
terrains
in prospect
elaborate
exotics
artfully
engineered
in
ostensible
outlooks
outwardly
abstracted
searching
for
senstivity
A desolate trekker who walks undauntedly,
Truth moves slowly but surefootedly
Through matted crowds of lies,
Ever stung by lethal fangs of vice.
Her trek through moistureless terrains
Unperturbedly winds on amidst pains;
Outnumbered by loathing children of gloom,
Till the coming of Diablo’s definite doom.
Quite far we have traversed, in pursuit of goals we chose,
Through troubles and trepidations of seasons in throes;
Sometimes reveling sunshine, sometime in glum of shadows,
Always together~ on barren terrains, or verdant meadows.
In albums of yore, we ruminate now, turning pages of life,
Banishing anguish of feelings-forlorn, fuming in strife;
Reminiscing in moments passionate, of love sublime,
Treasured in memories-beloved, accumulated over time.
Harboring wisdom, inlaid in life’s waning phase, as we age,
In realms of reflections, insights-sapient, now we engage;
Learning from knowledge gained, from choices we made,
Accepting with grace, laments of secrets, as yet unsaid.
Regrets unmitigated, voice remorse of unuttered sigh,
Seeking empathy from goodwill of repentant goodbye;
As life tallies good versus bad, that introspections confide,
Eying a tranquil state of mind, devoid of hate and pride.
It’s time to reflect, it’s time to mend, it’s time to befriend,
As journey of life, beaming content, approaches its end;
Living final days in covenants revered, humbly we penned,
Elevating self, in peace of bliss, to heavens we shall ascend.
He said I was pretty
and I blushed.
He started celebrating
When I agreed.
We were blessed in church
For my new role at home.
He showed me his world
And I built his home.
Then I got that job
And he rejoiced with me.
Every morning, ill wake up before he
And ready his meal and tea.
He will drive me like we were nineteen.
And drop me home like a queen.
I aced around the house like a pro
While he shares a few hours with his bro.
Then like a king, I serve his meal,
While we talk about his deal.
He says he is tired
So, I tuck the kids in.
Then one day, I was late
And he thought I was mislaid.
He lost his charm and turned me around
“Don’t you think I should know your whereabouts”!
Then I saw life
The joys were always a mirage
whilst sorrows, worries and pains
the reality.
My dreams are no longer mine
For I changed it when I said yes
I have been living for others,
While I have my life in plains and terrains.
One day they will know me
But alas, when is that one day?
Vandana Nath
Composed and presented during Women’s History Month
From the mass arose, a one of its kind---
Resolved to affect, the whole of mankind.
A brain gifted to influence the lot.
He owes to all, lives he bought.
His legacy lies in clandestine veins,
That rules lands, the inhuman terrains.
Calculating minds surrender to him.
Evil incarnate, he makes heads spin.
Empathy not, revenge he seeks,
Nature's curse, he promises peaks.
Philanthropy a garb, to make up for all
The sins he caused at ambition's call.
He feeds on wealth, he feeds on fire
He is love's craziest desire
He makes his rules, owns them all
Bitterness incarnate, he causes downfall.
Verdant prairies, lush foothills,
Yellow tulips, golden daffodils,
Waltzing with magnolia’s zeal
Flamboyant in spring’s appeal.
Thundering showers, mirthful bees,
Burbling rivers, roaring seas,
Birds chirping, roaming carefree,
Buoyant, reveling summer’s glee.
Autumn paints crimson themes
Dyeing leaves, charming dreams,
Swaying vistas, iridescent trees,
Whirling frolicking amber breeze.
Shuddering boughs, winds blow,
Scattering delicate falling snow,
Shivering knolls, terrains aglow,
Glistening twilight’s wintry glow.
Sculpting tinges periwinkle, eventide paints on arc of ruby skies,
Sunset dreams of freezing eve, longing warmth of moonrise;
As realms gelid waltz, where light-beams with shadows dance,
Shuddering boughs, quivering vistas, swaying barren expanse.
Prairies frozen glimmer, resplendence of pristine falling snow,
Where decaying colors of fall, in remnants of autumn glow,
When twinkling cosmic rivers, on tapestries of Milky-Way flow,
As frosty moonlight glistens knolls, of shivering terrains aglow.
Quietude dwells in grip of winter, where lakes and rivers froze,
Where beauty shines reflecting light, gleaming blustery woes,
Of shorter days, of time glazed, mellowed in golden sunshine,
Ceding to lingering nights, glinting in glamor of heavens divine.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.