breathless hush
Beyond dreams
with candlelight burns
Lives cross lives idling
Beyond souls emptiness'
piano speaks
'It's all in one mind'
the trees listening
for they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush tonight
tidal wave sweeps in
breathes and sinks all lights lit
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water float away like lovers horizontal
Loop becomes a rollercoaster
like water glasses mixed with Buddhist brine
watered down beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve suddenly become salt
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
the great wave sweeps
to wash away over-age Camembert
steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
and Indians reclaim their canoes
(Blackout of Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning
By Lawrence Ferlinghetti)
It is not merely blood that moves,
A rushing, quiet river in the wrist,
But time’s own cadence, rhythmic, absolute,
A sudden, startled joy that I have missed.
I trace the map of veins, a slender road,
And watch the crimson tide begin to rush,
A silent drummer in the quiet night,
Bringing the noisy world to a solemn hush.
So let us take a moment, soft and slow,
To feel the thrumming, the vital, living tide,
And romanticize the pulse, a sacred drum,
That carries all the love I hold inside.
It is the only dance that does not end,
A fragile, perfect tempo we are given—
A heartbeat’s song, a soft, insistent whisper,
That turns this mortal flesh into a heaven.
So lay your hand upon the quiet vein,
And know that we are here, entirely free,
This steady, thrumming life is but a pledge—
A song of you, and a song of me.
A Greeting from the Thrumming Grave
O, Thou Great and Ravenous Maw,
Who cradles the stars in a velvet shroud,
Hear the pulse of a world that dares to bloom
Amidst the rot of time and the weight of clouds.
We are but ghosts of carbon and ancient heat,
Spun from dust of ancestors long decayed,
Hurling our voices into the frozen deep
Where the light of a billion suns is slowly frayed.
We offer no gold, but the salt of our weeping,
The iron of blood, and the nectar of breath,
Small, frantic sparks in the dark's cold keeping,
Dancing a waltz on the threshold of death.
Our cities are monuments built of the bone,
Our songs are the echoes of a feverish dream;
We are the marrow within the stone,
The silver ripple in a black, silent stream.
O, Infinite Silence, receive our pale prayer:
We were here, we were wild, we were briefly aflame,
Though the void shall strip our history bare,
Let the darkness remember the sound of our name.
Can you hear it?
The rhythms beating,
pulsing upon the ground
boots trampling dirt as
they march towards war.
Can you feel it?
The innocents cry for blood
bloodlust for the enemy thrumming
in each and every chest
as they shout for war!
Do you fear it?
Watching your father march
to the rhythms of his comrades
with no time for a goodbye
while your mother holds you
back against the rhythms
drawing you towards the sword.
Do you miss it?
The thrum of violence
Beating wildly upon
Your chest. The pulse
of drums now a whisper
replaced by the distant screams
of the damned.
Depressive thoughts are all consuming
The blackness of my heart is blooming
Sadness seeps through every pore
The daily tasks a grinding chore
Damning thoughts invade my conscience
Making truths of utter nonsense
Run away and keep on running
The thoughts inside my head are thrumming
But here I'll stay and here I'll die
Before you ever see me cry
Reality is coming.
Don't you hear its wings, a-thrumming?
When prosperity smiled
on the people of the Nile
and there was bread and onions
no Calvins, Luthers, Bunyans
could disrupt the daily toil
to sell them snake oil,
but the workers in crisis
are sure to turn to Isis.
totem poles, Superbowls, Beyonce Knowles
cellphones ring tones Alex Jones
will-they-fire-us, Covid virus, Miley Cyrus
How long can you keep
them walking in their sleep?
In the watches of the night,
don't you sometimes take fright
when you think how it will end,
the day they comprehend?
Rand Paul, Fawn Hall, Rollerball
go-fasters, phony pastors, US Masters
shock jocks, Redsox, Amanda Knox
During the investors' meeting,
don't you hear those wings, a-beating?
Oniape Fort. My dear, my beloved
Your voice is music to my ears
And your touch reaches into my very soul
When you sorrow I weep with bitter regret
When you are of good cheer I celebrate for all I know
So, with your beguiling song I am yours as sure as you are mine
For I know that I alone wield the keys to your heart
And thus together our loves does unite
My dear. My Oniape Fort.
When we present our love to the world
Our actions are in perfect harmony
Our heartstrings are tied as if one
Thrumming as to the rhythm of your melodious voice
And when the weather turns and you lose your hope
I right the wrongs and transform your sobs into song
My beloved. My Oniape Fort.
Jolly chances t'turn fickle frowns
Upside from the downward depression of soundless stars
Starved of their beating heart
Durdum thumps thrumming with the du-dum do falleth down
As my farced and fickle faced frown
Shall merely chow
Shall swallow
Shall discover delving downward doom
T'dally days destined t'devour
Food formed from my sickened haze
For i shall swoon to the song of suicidal serendipity
In the very case i were to gain and brew bottomless baths of bile from my two-toned two-finger fallacy
Pacing and purging
And racing
And awaiting the silent serendipity of suicide
And to slip th'seams of self sabotage
So to take this heart f'momentary might
And lower this lease upon my lonely life.
Time shall tie untimely truths to th'other
Upon my final night.
28//9//25
how many years I lived
without knowing the decision space in front of me
didn’t depend on the stingy calculus
of a lover’s whimsy.
I can’t believe—
how many times I mistook silence
for verdict, god’s understudy,
how many times I called a locked door just,
as if my wanting were felony,
my body a crime scene.
I called it love—
letting all other appetites eat first.
I called it love—
when I folded my desire, my voice
into a paper crane,
set it alight,
then apologized
for the smoke.
But freedom—
freedom isn’t a hand-me-down.
It cannot be conferred, is not a ribbon tied
to someone else’s mercy.
It’s my pulse still thrumming,
a window they swore was nailed shut
splintering, opening, opening.
Freedom is sky without edges,
my mind a kite unwound from every fist,
kissing my own lips,
striking my name like the last match on earth,
calling it holy—
to breathe without permission.
My heart was breathing rapidly
My ears were thrumming silence
Filled with the joy
That came up beside me
I was seeing sounds that spoke
Into my moving mind
It took one glance and told me
That I would never die
Breathing knowledge
Thinking truth
Speaking to the all of you
I sound was rest upon my shoulders
Lifting me to speak louder
I saw the truth float through the air
And sit down beside you
I knew it then
That I would never die.
If a lip could weave its own refrain,
It would drape itself; longing for delight,
A fleet strumming; a pair, in soothing rain,
World's lightening kept alive one stolen night
It would sing of passionate pages turned
Inside the bars, it holds moments 'til heartbreak
Vermillions borders crossed, endless war is yearned
What was fired from the eyes, leave Cupid's bow to take
In phantom touch, it tastes both love and rhyme
Petals, drawing on petals, the instruments, a blur
It is a joy, thrumming tune, at the pulse of all sprung time
In silence of the moment, it becomes a song for sure.
Closing at the commissures of superior and inferior seams,
sweetness is humbled; as I am won, with anothers dreams
This is it
The end
I’ve no more friends
And now it all depends.
What will he do now?
There’s nothing else around
For miles and miles not even a sound.
No laughter, no people just air and ground.
We are alone.
I wish I could call,
Never realized how much I would miss it all.
There’s no point.
My soul was sold,
By no choice of my own
This society voted,
Lost in the false promises that were spoken
My heart is torn open.
I can feel it coming,
The air is thicker,
My mind is numbing
The candle lights flicker,
The ground is thrumming.
In anticipation,
For the sudden desolation
As we reach the brink
We are all going extinct.
You know it needs to be a drum -
sometimes.
Slap the bow
ride its low sonorous growl.
then pass a long sliding caress
across its hollow tongue.
Let the music tremble out from silence.
Reality can only mimic
that emerging wave of sound,
as if a hand were stroking a very dark cat.
The cello speaks for you
when lips refuse to speak of dark or light.
Stay with the thrumming
of feral strings on echoing wood,
plant that music
beyond any heaven or hell,
for like that First Tree in Eden,
it is innocent,
and speaks no sin.
Cutest prattles of children I adore
Are now the loudest cries I bear
Oh, No! The grieves of these abandoned souls
The worst sounds I have ever heard
Mesmerizing songs of endemic birds I carried
have become a threatening alarm now
Migratory birds missed the way to their hometown
Endemic ones sense no way at all to escape
Minerals accumulated river
is now of blood spilling over
Obnoxious odour it is,
I couldn't carry further...
Daily prayers and chants I hear
have turned into laments with fear
Thrumming thunder drums I bring
turned out to be the horrible skirmishes
Two military factions strictly crafting their plans
Echoing the sounds of huge bombs and gunfires
Reigned over their people by creating boundaries
Unfortunately, this unbiased breeze is same for all
Amidst this tormenting situation, I still try to thrive
to be a solacing breath to the struggling souls out there
If not, I would have become a windstorm
and ruined the entire place certainly
21-Oct -2023
Through stormy night with shadow's
thrumming of troubled whispers,
the encircling warmth of you
will soothe every fear.
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