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Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan Poem
Silently waiting amidst the full moon's sink'd smile,
Farfetch’d upon the grazing winds of steeping mountains,
Seemingly dead eyes, tear’d and wash’d and wash’d,
Flow of glaciers and broken crevasse - a sacred fig, lost?
No. yellow clouds; damn’d of darkness and stemm’d from beyond,
Of ye ol’ doubts and fears - so they say.
L’air is picking up - sails liberated from infinite prisons,
Ships began their ascension, ascension to the fault, to the abyss,
Stocks made up, rum thrown over,over,over.
Sheaths made dull, wanting for shine…
Damn’d after damnation,
Waves still as they are, tides unpleasant as always.
To change; changing; changed.
Deafening, defiling, defining silence.
Light of sight simply without its might.
Files of ‘smiles’ just piles.
Ships set sail…
The precious cargo along with them,
Skimm’d across the silver fishes,
Port’s empty now. Quiet. Desolate. Barren.
Left stranded have we been,
However with riches of the Brunei King,
Yet - oil need not be of laughter,
Gold need not be embracement if neither warmth,
Lost? My boy? Follow the Southern Wind.
Puppetry at hand. obedient.
Don’t linger too long here mon ami.
Ils sont déjà partis…the ships have set their bearings.
Alors, look cross past the laden horizon,
A new sun - new day - new life,
Prospectors alike seen this,
A half-turn, and panoramic views,
I’ve left of my memories and thoughts - no more, no less.
And look, a new sun, a new day, a new life.
Copyright © Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan | Year Posted 2012
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Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan Poem
To be insane and psychotic that is what I'm being called
The tendencies that I find myself face;
To lose my memories, my personality;
To forget myself,
Only to be reborn time after time again,
With new experiences as they are 'new'
Only to be forgotten again...
I cannot help but to call this a curse...
Despite its treasures of being able to forget
And unable to relive segments of life
Which I found to be
Horrendous,
Devastating...
Painful.
I find myself in debt of also forgetting
Moments of greatness - fond memories
Of gatherings with loved ones,
Friends and family alike...
The long feigned desire of that smile...
No amount of pain
Neither the threshold of human capacity of ignorance
Could equate to such a paradise
Of thoughts, of wonders, of life...
And yet do I find myself in this cursed curse...
To be 'blessed' with this thing at the top,
To be 'blessed' with the ability to think deeply and profoundly,
To be 'blessed' with the inability to sleep,
To be 'blessed' with the immediate misunderstanding with others...
To be 'blessed' with the ability to forget.
How would one preserve one's memories?
Experiences in such a way that he could relive
That very temporal stability at the shut of the eyes,
How could one cope with the loss of such memories?
An unimaginable extremity - they say write;
But it could not possibly amount to any measure of specifications and details
That one endures through the six senses,
The sixth especially, more than any other...
My fear is not of that of a menial thing - to sit there,
Being fearful of not relocating that memory again;
My fear is much, much greater,
It is the one fear that exceeds all others,
Even my fear for my own death,
My fear for God;
It is simply, the fear of oneself,
Myself,
Me...
I.
The fear that comes with the loss of memories,
Which, inevitably leads to the loss of oneself forever,
And to find oneself change forever to a person,
whom may not want to relive that moment again...
I fear him.
Copyright © Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan | Year Posted 2012
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Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan Poem
Reposed and reclined was I then,
To be contented per say of my den,
Yet, thoughts be it of mine,
Strayed far through space and time.
Reaches out at a speaking darkness,
Seemingly insignificant, yet of deep greatness,
And I grabbed it with glee,
Something a friend brought to Me.
A memory of my memory,
A book of poetry,
Thought to be in my position and now lost,
Came flooding back through cadavers and frost.
Retreated did I, from that very état,
And pondered through lectures as would Descartes,
Alas, the sun rises and sets much more easily,
Thus had I to recollect that which it was in tranquility .
Even a madman with all his swagger he could muster,
Thrust would (he) upon the dagger and reclaim back his wear, duster,
And yet - yet I could not find such but to remember Leonore,
A tale calmly and barely I adore.
And Lo! There! I’ve found it!
The part of me or Me that gazed it,
The dredging through barren leaves of my ‘haven’,
Just to say you were right of The Raven.
Copyright © Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan | Year Posted 2012
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Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan Poem
Friends,
Loss,
Death,
Sadness,
Despair,
Pain,
Unbearable,
Anger,
Hatred,
Rage,
Unstoppable,
Death,
Regret,
Suffering,
Blind,
Deaf,
Broken,
Incurable,
Void,
Sight,
Silence,
Realization,
Help,
Happiness,
Complete,
Fulfilling,
Unimaginable,
Acceptance,
Serene,
Death,
Peace.
At last….
Copyright © Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan | Year Posted 2012
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Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan Poem
The curtains open graciously,
The lights centered on the stage,
Turned on, dispelling darkness,
Like the sun chasing the moon,
Fixated, we see the players of the play,
They lie, they act, they pretend,
To be not themselves,
In character, were they?
They heed not the presence of spectators,
They consume their breaths,
They consume the light,
They create disparity,
All for the play,
For the sake of applaud by them,
For the sake of recognition,
Fame – fortune,
We patiently watch them,
We know them,
As a bird knows the sky,
The players act, act and act…
Words played from the director’s script,
Every action carefully planted,
Carefully orchestrated with precision,
Without flaw, the script knows all,
The players, bound by such submissiveness,
The director himself knows, the finalé,
Yet he plays them anyway,
Without reason he does so…
Fame perhaps? Or fortune then?
To amuse his friends, the audience?
If so…players are doomed indeed…
Regardless, the script plays them such,
They must adhere to their callings,
To listen to the flow of wind bristling,
The very fall of their senses,
Their eyes blinded by that light,
The light which illuminates them…
They have no choice but to act…
Or perhaps they do?
Copyright © Dhaneesh Kumar Gopala Krishnan | Year Posted 2012
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