The pain in my heart threatens to be my end,
I sought to show the 'me' that God did intend.
Yet, silenced I stand, to the skies, I relent,
"Your will, not mine," my whispered consent.
Hunger ignored, sleep's sweet embrace denied,
Like a treasured vase, now broken and defied.
Familiar with fragments, a constant state of disrepair,
Yet breaking because of you was more than I could bear.
I find myself at fault again, an echo of my past,
God seems to be the steadfast when nothing else will last.
Was my love not sufficient? My soul starts to question,
Is it wrong to give my all, to make my heartfelt confession?
Am I the villain for unburdening my soul?
"Why is life a journey through a deep, darkened hole?"
On this bleak and barren day, the rain whispers of dismay.
The devil, a lurking thief, stole my heart and slinked away.
Swallowing this bitter pill, a truth hard to follow,
I hope to reclaim my heart from the hollow.
Now I sit in the quiet, while God and angels attempt,
To quiet the screams of my soul, vehemently unkempt.
Go sing if ye enjoy,
No use your soul to destroy.
River flows as suits her moods,
Sea leaps with waves, never broods,
None of them ever feels coy,
Go sing if ye enjoy…
Trees sway on wings of fancy,
Dance in utter ecstasy,
Leap, lift up all restrained buoy,
Go sing if ye enjoy…
No use, much walked ways to walk,
Nor in same tired ways to talk,
Watch a child lost with her toy,
Go sing if ye enjoy…
Till ye be in touch with bliss,
Which, a perennial stream is,
Just find your own mundane joy,
Go sing if ye enjoy…
_______________________________
Musing |20.01.2024| sing, mood
Poet’s note: One likes it or not, man has to do many things suppressing his inner voice, his mind’s mood. And he often feels like unburdening himself from all such social and practical commitments. Yet, it is not so easy, what so the mood might command. From such predicament is born this poem.
"As water flows down when a faucet is turned on, thoughts and feelings pour out into a journal cleansing the heart" ~ By Poet
I keep a journal, a treasure chest of memories.
Where I record each day’s activities
Where I divulge my innermost secrets
As my feelings overflow into each blank page,
I get the therapeutic effect of unburdening my heart.
Though I scrawl down in messy hand,
It is a slice of my heart and I treasure it,
More than any other document I have.
Every day I empty my heart into its pages,
My pen bleeds words in red.
I paint me as I am, honest and truthful.
I don’t want to be a sham.
Here I lay bare my life,
Fraught with aches, dotted with smiles.
My longings and my heart aches
My expectations, my disappointments
My triumphs, my defeats
My search through every nook n’ cranny for success
My plunge into the nadir of despair on defeat
My moments of escalating joy
My dark hours of crippling distress
Everything I want to be,
Everything I fail to be.
Journaling, poetry, and prayer fill my day.
They help me keep all my boredom away!
The dawn of
forgiveness
The death of
old pain
The choice that
releases
The end of
disdain
Unwrapping
tomorrow
Regifted
today
The loneliest
moments
Beyond
—yesterday
(Dreamsleep: June, 2023)
Endless sorrow and great danger
Beautiful city filled with blood
The redness will end, so will the dispersing blood
Right or wrong will be a luxury for the weak
Like few waves coursing the calm sea
Battling the fear of chaos
ladened heart harboured
misery, hatred, bitterness
Spreading like wild night fires
Conflicting emotions littered heart's dreams
Confessing concealed pains from its archive
awaiting the purgatory that comes therewith
neither grace nor resentment
Hold aloft the horn of hope
blowing till not a grasp of air left
unburdening the worries that piled as _Olumo_
calling to the heaven, payment to the collar
solace not lost but sold on auction
who have been to the other side and back?......
Life’s cyclic existence from death to rebirth
best understood this season of burgeoning.
Flora, as Phoenix, rises from the sodden earth
in graceful flourish of death unburdening
itself with fritillaries flashing its worth
and earning its illustrious guerdoning.
Season of bursting verdant new beginnings.
Showy production of clever Spring’s winnings.
Bold lilies and crocus burst in brilliance,
anticipating full Spring’s warming sunlight,
with yellow, white, and purple resilience
from wintry soil in Spring’s comforting delight.
The signals of Winter and Spring consilience,
ground covered in a kaleidoscopic sight.
Winter behind, Spring eagerly looks forward,
charges persistently with ebullience onward.
A new campaign for mental health
Is aimed to be reveally.
This New York website asks the question –
So, “How are you really?”
For everyone is not okay
Though some pretend they’re steely.
To get more folks to open up,
There’s now “How are you really?”
By phone or twitter one can join
Since each of us, ideally,
Has lots to say about our lives
When asked, “How are you really?”
Unburdening the truth inside,
Once viewed as “touchy feely,”
May help us thus connect and cope
For none feel normal – really!
A Lei made of orchids and jasmine bestows welcome and intimate grace
The kiss of life’s signs of tender hospitality blossoms with undying love
A faithful swirl of prayer beads of precious reminders attends to peace
The ultimate symbol of destiny’s serenity unfolds infinite kindness
A tearful necklace’s chain of timeless surrender embraces compassion
The unburdening of restless shackles caresses fleeting impermanence
Garlands of beginnings blessing and hope upon one wheel of transcendent life
26th April 2019
Make the best use of time,
Keep your faith aglow;
While it's still daylight,
Take on a new glow.
You can make it anywhere,
Keep your heart open to a dream;
God's blessings never run dry,
Just hold on to your dream.
In times like these,
Don't wait for good things to happen;
Get your life in shape,
The best is yet to happen.
Whichever way the wind blows,
Serve the Lord with a joyful heart;
Trust God, hope at daybreak,
Standing tall, at day's start.
Even if it takes a lifetime,
Looking ahead, unburdening;
Keep to yourself, after a storm,
Till victory comes shining.
NOTE: It's a tribute to Brother Nick P. Tiosen. All the lines are titles of the 24
selected poems from the 101 heartwarming
poems from the book EVEN IF IT TAKES A LIFETIME
penned by Brother Nicanor P. Tiosen,
my former mentor. All credits are given to him.)
Walking the path with otherness;
not achieving anything,
I, condemned, to remain solitary, decline
to join the gods of a crowd. So that
my sun, remains shadowless.
No, it is not the final verdict.
I was always incomplete, unburdening
my cipher, failing against the blood
that demanded uninterrupted flow, blending
right and wrong. My words were too much
to say No. The melting snow remembered
the names of the trees. On the breast of
earth a signature theme plucks the
grass to make way for the rose beds. This
makes no secret of betrayal.
Less prudent, I blunder, try to untie myself
from future, and become little me, playing
with the mask of present, carrying my blankness
to become hungry again, for the knowledge
which was never my fatal being.
SATISH VERMA
absence of a melody
was wrenching
on the face of a song
surface tension –
a venom creeps
surging in twin black eyes
you raise your price
in extremes
unburdening of embryonic waste
outsider
matches his death
with antiquity
SATISH VERMA
A proxy life
I was fighting in the hourglass
to open the pathways of a grain
for a bloody birth of an idea.
Was time faithful to us
when we were drifting apart ?
A prowling big cat had again attacked in dark
and broken the necks of lambs.
Now miracles are flying
and you want to get the solid gold
hidden in a borewell, the colour
of a sunset and a yellow wager.
Today I will forget the grief
of generations, dispossessed of death and myths.
You have not lifted the pugmarks
unburdening my truth.
Satish Verma
Walking the path with otherness;
not achieving anything,
I, condemned, to remain solitary, decline
to join the gods of a crowd. So that
my sun, remains shadowless.
No, it is not the final verdict.
I was always incomplete, unburdening
my cipher, failing against the blood
that demanded uninterrupted flow, blending
right and wrong. My words were too much
to say No. The melting snow remembered
the names of the trees. On the breast of
earth a signature theme plucks the
grass to make way for the rose beds. This
makes no secret of betrayal.
Less prudent, I blunder, try to untie myself
from future, and become little me, playing
with the mask of present, carrying my blankness
to become hungry again, for the knowledge
which was never my fatal being.
SATISH VERMA
absence of a melody
was wrenching
on the face of a song
surface tension –
a venom creeps
surging in twin black eyes
you raise your price
in extremes
unburdening of embryonic waste
outsider
matches his death
with antiquity
SATISH VERMA
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