She rose at dawn
and laid the mat,
not from longing,
but from old habit.
She bowed, then sat,
hands curled in form,
but the heart lagged—
a breath behind.
Whispers once lush
now stumbled dry—
echoes of names
once called with fire.
The tasbih clinked
without intent,
rolling bead by bead
without a soul.
She used to plead,
soaking her sleeves,
but now she blinked
and called it done.
Ameen, she mouthed—
not out of hope,
but in fear of what
silence might mean.
Her faith remained,
tired and thin,
folded like cloth
kept from the sun.
She loved her Lord—
but the fire dimmed
in the hurly winds
on dusty paths.
And so she kneels,
devout and hushed,
with prayers unsaid
threading her tongue.
One day, she hopes
her tongue will stir,
and her lips will lift
to pray aloud again.
Categories:
wearied, endurance, god, poems, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Haunted are winds...
sometimes towards north or south
or east or west
even the air at times is dusty
through eyes and noses
and all senses
they converge and if
they query through questions
repeat frequencies
and let their problems
a variable
even answers are still
the poised presented
to observers
now nothing is left
but a mimic flower
found haunted.
Categories:
wearied, love,
Form: Free verse
Still comes to me
Sitting by the fire
Lamenting my regrets
Categories:
wearied, art, devotion, inspiration,
Form: Haiku
Tis weary when thoughts thunder in looped replay
Would it not be better if they just went away?
Thy storms have brewed and built for weeks
Plummeting with lamenting opinions that reek
Bitter these pills now thou hast taken in turns
Rancorous choices thou doth seek now to spurn
Twas it the dawning of seen darkness ahead
Or simply lost sleep tossing and turning in bed?
Calamity, greets, knocking loud at thy door
Greed, once friend, here to settle old scores
Alas I, true friend, will shed forth some light
Pay off thy debtors and lessen thy plight
2/3/13 All rights reserved
Categories:
wearied, satire,
Form: Couplet
"Wearied Wanderlust"
upon a gilded meadow glows a bottle of tender tears
scattered ashes burnt and laden carpeting of stone
ravished emotions turbulent feasting on flesh and bone
filtering through fibers as escalating fears
harbor broken dreams evaporating in waning years
as visions petrified reside in somber tone
upon a gilded meadow glows
Life's chilling chant of haunted love still stalks
a tattered heart is wandering, wearied and all alone
swallowed a bittersweet taste of vacant cone
in endless patterns of desolate walks
upon a gilded meadow glows..
Categories:
wearied, love,
Form: Rondeau