Thereon Poems | Examples

I am now a butterfly

As she drinks nectar from a flower, sweetness from heaven falls like dew  
anointed with a gentle rain amidst sun showers she appears as if on cue
 
Lifting her wings she lands on a Zinnia beneath a tinted sky of April blue 
flight of fancy fanning fast, fabulous marvel, she is beauty true on true 

Pheromones fill the air as the males call the females to their abode
their abdomens linked tail-to-tail, and on the damsels' eggs the male seed are sowed

From thereon, dull caterpillars slowly transformed into exquisite beauties
then, to a new hope, many newborns flew, making gardens filled with cuties

She then whispered that before brightness, there was a very dark darkness~
so don’t give up on your life just because your present swims in starkness

"Learn from my life cycle," she further said, "beauties that once were can still be
so your belief in sunshine after this raging storm is paramount and key"

From then on, she became me, and I became her, and hope of a better tomorrow fills me
far from me, fear then fled—I face my problems with glee, from hopelessness my life is free

Erato

I used to dwell in a desolate space
A grim and twisted world of cataclysm
Wrought by the echoes of my own disgrace

Back then, I was nothing but an empty shell
Who lived life as if it was destined for the deep
But that was before the cosmic spell

It was the rarest moment when the stars aligned
The eternal cosmos burst into radiant streams
As the goddess of light descended, divine

Then the otherworldly maiden began her dance
And wove her song in celestial tongue
While playing her lyre in mystical trance

I stood there transfixed, my soul aflame
Before this celestial being unknown to me
And sensed thereon—nothing would be the same

-

Whispers of our soul

“Does the universe really rehearse,
emotes of heart before penning love’s verse?”
      ~ quote by poet


It had all makings of a masterpiece,
nuanced right down to the smallest detail
but the flow of symbols brought forth no peace,
to afterglow trailing the comet’s tail,
so fake adornments needed to decrease,
else maze of metaphors would make taste stale.

Soft sounds of silence, sparking like stardust,
bypassed mind and spoke directly to heart,
etching thereon light strobes, love ousting lust,
seeing thereby patterns of old depart,
wooing the void, in time gaining its trust,
that divine consciousness, then inks its art.

How may laboured breathing weave words of love,
when all save man know, grace flows from above?

Long Live The King

 Long Live The King who shines Sublime
 Gleaming in Sheens Of Excellent Light,
 Oscillating Crowns Of Fire and Gems
 Forever Be, Blitzing Mountains till the end
 Shine Thereon above the Heathens Of Night
 Robed in Garments, Illumined like Galactic Knights
 Take Flight, Always Rising Kingly Like
 In Kingly Strides towards Kingly Heights,
 Press Forth, Ever-Beyond the Mists Of Time
 Ever-Triumphant Free and Wild
 Let the Winds Chant, Whisper, and Sing
 As The Seasons Pass... Long Live The King

Good Samaritan

        A man to Jericho making his way
	was attacked by robbers as if him to slay;
		then stealing his gold
		and leaving him cold – 
	half-dead by the road, a scene of dismay.

	A Priest was passing. Would he intervene?
	Likewise a Levite surveying the scene.
		While heaving a sigh
		both then passed on by – 
	to bind up his wounds would make them unclean.

	A Samaritan who was struggling along,
	showed pity for the man who'd suffered such wrong.
		So doing his best
		the wounds he did dress,
	then took him to an inn, his beast thereon.

	“Now which of these proved to be a neighbour
	to the one who suffered such a disfavour?”
		“He who showed mercy
		but none of the clergy.”
	“So where there's such need, could you be a saviour?”

Luke 10.25-37

Irony 'War' vs Satire 'Peace'

They'd be war a'coming
nay a battle
for wars a meant to last ...!

They say wars do end ...
and then they turn into battles
then battles become personal
then personal becomes private
and then private goes behind closed doors ...

Ahh, ... then when those doors open
they hold up a paper
and on that paper 
it has their signed names
still wet with inked stains
and on that so-called paper
with the contents thereon
just a fraction of it
just the gist of it
just be but a tiny ...
'piece' ...
the word ...
'
P

E

A

C

E'.

Oh, 'GAWD-awful' of me
don't forget that period at ...
T          E

H         N

E          D ... 

Then the funniest thing had happened
in the 'little' or 'long'
thereafter,
depending on how you value your time ...

T          I          D

H         N          R

E         K          IED ...

As I said
They'd be war a'coming
... but then again,
It could be just a ...

R

U

M

O

R.

Witching Hour Minstrel Part Two

Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,
nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,
they face whirlwind snowfall, freezing ice,
while others brazenly squirm,
not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,
exodus of the half-hearted humbug,
but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,
eyes and ears are substitute antennas,
of this genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,
peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,
velvet moon worlds sidereal captured,
crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,
icy night frost  punctured by high drive fog horns,
deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,
who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,
as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,
drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,
river stream babble, blind alley gust,
eavesdrop on historic past teaser,
litter swept aural gossip whoosh,
eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,
darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,
yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,
each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling  suburb,
for inert sleepy after hour dozers,
who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep

Grave In Dust

A grave wherein my body lie,
Pounds of flesh overwhelmed with flies.

In buzzes they siren their movement hence,
Though I lay still in cadaverous silence.

Flesh dehydrates, cast naked in sunlight,
On I shrivel with skin pulled tight

Where hair once soft now turn to straw,
And eyes once wet now turned bloody raw.

Electrons once fired lie dormant in slumber,
As above storms a ravenous thunder,

Whence heaven grants its long-awaited rapture,
Where hell awaits some to capture

Those fated to a demise in dust,
Thereon no longer in faith they’ll trust.

Mount Jackson Mountain Mouse

Mount Jackson Mountain Mouse
Forever in your youth
As you scurry about, crevice to crumb
When will you know the truth

For the mountaintop where you reside
Is harsh as harsh can be
And those who dwell thereon must face
Its stark reality

Yet here you are alive, about!
Your daily tasks at hand
Unaffected by the grind
Of daily living at this clime 
– It seems you’ve made your stand!

And made it suit you well, I'd say!
While we, we hikers – Summiteers!
Arriving with our daily bread
Fall into your grand design
– You do appear well fed!

Oh, Mount Jackson Mountain Mouse!
Though scruffy and showing wear
Of a life long-lived in the mountain air
However will you fare – 

As well as you have fared, so far
And more, lasting on and on
Fondly in my memory
Long after you are gone

Honey Bee

He takes control of her menacing lust
Skin and flesh his lips explore
This savage impulse fueling the desire
The moment comes when she loses control
She submits to her man, as she quivers thereon
The sensation overwhelms her as he explores
Her ripe lilac blossom and petals of soft flesh
Every inch of silken skin traced and savoured
He is a honey bee collecting her luscious nectar
She moans uncontrollably but he is a honey bee
And she is his only flower.

The Love Imprinted On My Heart Is Gone

The face imprinted on my heart is gone.

It faded slowly so I did not know

My heart is blank amd nothing lies thereon

The face imprinted on my Heart is gone

I do not feel the love of anyone.

This common loss affects us like a blow.

A metaphor,a simile,a pun.

My mind is blank its images have gone.

My heart is mine alone the love of none

Like a candle flame my love burnt low.

My mind is faded. Now I know no sun

Underneath the rivers silver

Desiring's Brood

Unguarded, from out that pit
For heart's place, capacious
Burn on up, Desiring's brood.
Winged vipers, rapacious.

There's luxury's diamond-backed
Skinned regeneration.
And lust, more horrid looking.
With reddish streaks thereon.

A Spiritual Relief

Comes the serpent in splendid garments
Silky satins with purest white tatted laces
Most deceptive of all Satan’s devilish varmints
How we welcome his warm tender embraces,
Sometimes taking us on a most enjoyable trip
And we go along for those pleasures we crave
But remember he doesn’t shoot from the hip
And before we know it, he will a name engrave,
Claiming for his nefarious purposes intentional
Yes, all seems well on the surface as we thrive
Sometimes quite wonderfully, even sensational
But then a time comes when we take a nosedive,
Hopefully we’ll awaken to the cause of our grief
Seeking out the values we had long cast aside
And come to that faith in God, a spiritual relief,
In peaceful grace and security from thereon abide. 

Written April 23, 2022

The Consciene of the World

The consciene of the world destructed today
the ballad of the war are playing on land and bay
The flames of violence of king Daksha going on the world
Sati and the Shiva, catastrophe of dance dancing hey.
Vishnu Muni, I know you, you ended catasthophe by cutting Sati
I am calling you, sinking in darkness, towards the world today
the world has became too hot to warm the heart like fire
please throw your wheel to stop the war I would like to pray.
Human race are playing in blood , the play of destruction
monsters are rulling on , they want to do evil thereon.
Pride of power spreads its net under the umbrella of violence
the fierce flock of sheep has made world as slaughterhouse in pain.
I wish to pray to have your grace to calm down the earth
human forgets their humanity, turns into giant,fall us in dearth.

For Rice Only Prostitute Try Their Best

House turns into brothel today, near and dear seems prostitute
glory of saree has lost in clownish luxury, lost their gentle look.
Facebook and Messenger continue to serve them freely thereon
dating, chatting and adultery shows barbarian prostitution.
How will they open cloths! If there any cloth on the breast!
pussy is open without pounds! for rice only prostitute try their best.

N.B. This is the translated form of one of my poetry written in Bengali language.

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