In the hallway of legends and ghosts
I wander aimlessly in dream
Talking with the dead of Brookhaven
The rope burns are still fresh on Helen's neck
A sickly scarlet mark upon her throat
In this corridor, I pace, a key in hand; lost
Forever the sojourn of quietus in keeping
Before a door numbered two, I stand
Silence a silver web with the muted sobs of angels
It is not a key I hold when she at last comes upon me
It is only the dark tangent of lost souls and vipers
And a blind man staggering upon a battlefield as
Cannons roar and the blue turban leers
The rains come like Jacob Marley's ghost
Riding the coach forever
Brahms Walz in A flat Major OP> Number 15
_____________________________________________
Bello, Bello
your turban has come
Bello, Bello
your Turban has come
she bowed her head in
embasserment
the fluted sound whistled
in oour ear
Bello, Bello
your Turban
is here
She wore her brothers pink headdress
when she heard of his
opponet
she bowed her head in shame
he marveled
and stood fast
and she covered her eyes
each moment
thinking her lover
would fall to the champions feet
.
'tiz true
i'll visit the b&b
with the softest
bath towels
i love them warm
i'll take the
hot
mine great anticipation
the taut wrap
'round mine
mine
turban
the chambermaid's
reinforce
*booned
1. : something asked or granted as a favor.
2. : something pleasant or helpful that comes
at just the right time : blessing ["boon'd".]
I’m struck by the stark contrast
of her image
which leaps out
against a black background
Meeting the gaze
of her piercing blue eyes
I find her so beautiful
much more alluring than the Mona Lisa
A colourful teal and gold turban
hides her tresses
perhaps giving emphasis
to a solitary pearl earring
which skims the collar of her gown
Her enigmatic expression
hides a secret
Parted ruby red lips
are poised
as if to speak
yet,
they will never reveal her identity
Hidden Face Man of Des Moines was carrying his steed to Derby Town.
It’s the oddest sight, agreed a jokester, a monkey, a duck and a clown.
Onlookers wanted to take a peek, for it is not a matter of course
When you see a man in a turban carrying a brown upside down horse.
GIRL WITH A PEARL EARRING
by Johannes Vermeer
I am covered
In shades of light
An exotic dress
In gold and white
An oriental turban
In blue and gold
And a pearl earring
That shimmers bold
Lips parted
As if to speak
Bright eyes turning
To take a peek
Who are you
Who capture me?
A simple girl
I'm your tronie
In a fleeting moment
I turn my head
My eyes are wide
Words are unsaid
My intimate glance
Has caught your gaze
And you brush your strokes
Gripped in a daze
24th April 2023
My brother, you as well as I know
That I should have wished you well long ago
Nevertheless I wish you well now
As I make to wishing wellness my vow
We brought each other down at our own expense
So myopic was our lense
We each saw only what was one's own
Until our doors were knocked and banged by others' groans
Therefore I wish you rain and I wish you dew
May God give you a robe and turban white and new
Be the walking dignity of we your kinsmen
And may we resemble gloriously as brethren
For the flourishing of one and another and another
Will breed praises to God whenever we'll gather
May it proliferate throughout the nation
That the peoples may draw from us citation
And when it's all done and unabated
So will it be to the sons an inheritance slated
So soaking will Godliness be to our name
That repute will be more than fame
K. Muitherero.
In Jerusalem's Holy Temple
the High Priest entered
the Holy-of-Holies once a year
on that Holiest of Days, Yom Kippur
From the top of his exotic, oriental turban
dressed for the occasion was he
Dazzling gems on a breastplate of gold
bells ringing from his cloak for you and me...
...to know when he'd entered to beseech of the Lord
forgiveness and pardon for every Jew's sins
Uttering the Name of the Ineffable One ~
a most solemn proposition
And though dressed for the occasion was he
how humbling to stand, as if naked, in front of God Who
had custom-stitched every inch of his garments ~
commanded him on Yom Kippur what he should do
I design myself a turban of exotic fruit
To wear with my fabulous orange holiday suit
I wish I could find my other paisley green boot
To visit Gramps, an old colorful coot.
Not even a turban ,rob he have , oh lord! I don't know from where he came,
A torn out towel and trouser he wear, no shoes in legs,he is a lame ,
At the gate there is a brahmin, see the Dwarika empire and exclaim,
And ask for thy address, oh lord, and say Sudama is his name .
How much torn thy feet from thorns, thousand of prickles I can see,
Where thee have been all this time? How's thy family and how are thee?
By seeing Sudama's sick state , cried the lord out of pain ,
He didn't touch the trough water , washed pal's feet with tears rain !
A courteous curtain
Looked thready with fine silk
Scenting of my core
Which led linger rose in my mind
And with no fleeing ticks
But almost ding-dong devotes
Potent day and night
Shrouds,when I come in
Shields,when I come out
Dripping that cotton every moment
For not to streets cowslips
To steal me from her role
Let I vocal vomits vociferously
"Am I boastful beaming as her turban?
Oh,I love you courteous curtain
For vile of my days"
It happened at the age of three
Still hitting the brain..!!
I pulled my dad's shoes on one leg..!!
I made a cotton mat on my father's chest
When he came home at night after work..!!
I covered my face with
My daddy's turban..!!
My stomach,
Which was filled with food by my mom,
Will be hungry again when my dad comes..!!
The basket in front of the bicycle
Is my royal throne..!!
The journey that will continue for a long distance
With all of Daddy's hands as a bulwark..!!
Dad said,
My daughter is beautiful in the flowers in the park..!!
Dad cried all night,
Unable to say goodbye to Grandpa to
Come and pick me up..!!
When the train journey was canceled
I came back and joined my dad..!!
Dad's face turned red with a smile..!!
Dad was amazed at how stubborn I was..!!
Only I have a higher love than my brother..!!
Enjoyed me relentlessly while am sleeping..!!
Beautifully handed the pen to my pinch hands..!!
The inequality between the boy and the girl
Was completely differentiated..!!
All these for one word..!!
For a word I say..!!
DADDY..!!
Your helmet on holiday
While on a highway
Will make Accident Demons busier
And a lot to the Devil easier,
Either party to fracture your skull
For man’s most feared call.
Blame-worthy of you confronting a bike’s gear
Without donning its defensive head gear,
Suicidal, your cycling round the urban
While choosing to not turban!
Helmet dangling on a bike’s handle
Makes same its unlawful wearer:
Some silly, unlawful death nearer…
A barefaced lighting of the Wrong Candle!
Tunic trivials
turban tribunal trances
casual caustic cramps
Purely perfect Puneri couple
Enjoying moments just supple
Oozing with Peshwa flavour
Of course the groom with his fervour
Steals my glance the turban of groom
With its looks just troom
May you have all marital bliss
In all thy moments precious
Would like to see kids mine
In such a Marathi attire fine
May you celebrate such events many
With no worries ever any
What a wonderful know you are in ..!
This surely gives you peace umpteen..!!
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