Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Petals of roses, petals of crimson hues so ancient
Laid now on these solemn words of this world.
Was I in a dream, or was I well treading through
The feathers and tossed among the wings of angels?
There are now stones thrown on paltry sculptures
And fear reaming through the veins of that victory.
What was the dream? What was the dream?
Shouted the old man on the same crossroad.
If we can pause, if we can breathe the same air
we started our journey, and touch of the breeze.

We fake to whom if not the soul, to gather hope
To face the truth of that dream we love so much.
Our journey can’t be an epitaph over that stone
If not the honest air among the moonlit nights.
Settle O’ soul, there’s so much peace in passion;
There’s the possibility of life when we are gone.
I will write again, take hues from those petals
And hymn though the marble into the sculpture.

Hope is in those eyes that surround us all through.
We will rise again to peace and fall again in love.

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Inked in Love

Sometimes our breath is the greatest song,
That ears will not hear, but the heart will lend.
Drops of our tear and smiles will more belong
To the dreams of life cast now on a stones end.
Lips smearing among the seduced air of this land
I often revoked and retired from thoughts of you.
But I stand an inch taller, an acre more green
Every time someone says it’s love and it’s true.

I know the nights, I live that dream, and I still play
The same flute among the cold wind and still play
To cross the clouds in the dark to say I love you!
Let peace find you and time leave you alone in grey
To mould into apparitions of our most innocent day
And night filled with stars say with smile, I love you.

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What battle does this baffled baton lead
In these desolate hours for decrepit sailors’ oars?
The mutiny in a moment tests the greed
Of ours, of legends we know who still in course
Tussle their thirsty swords with ire indeed.
Let peace not preach any more, let the course
Break every intellect, to find the soul’s feed.
Live on hereafter with the same love and light,
Till our wings flutter and decide its true flight.

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I stand on this rock and touch the wind.

Here’s a satin draped sculpture in this corner
Of the garden of greatness, cold and white
In marble looking through the tinted threads
Into the hustles of heralded humans murmur.
Seasons do not come and go, but we venture
Through the times wanting to see even more.
We choose to crawl, then walk and part away
To find the light in dark and search each other.

I stand on this rock and touch the wind.

A witness to the winter? The smell of spring?
The torrid tremors of times beaten into gold.
I wish this journey could find me everything,
I wish we never be born again nor grow old,
But stand on this rock and touch the wind.

It’s the wind that will live this love’s tale forever
It’s the rock that will breathe light, life and love.
It’s every beat of the heart that life will choose
To touch every smile on those cold marble lips.
Be the wind that touches you now, be the rock
That teaches you to get carved by time alone.

I stand on this rock and touch the wind.

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In these desolate hours of an unending night,
I see the moonlit rocks cut into the steps of art.
The steps are in stone, the ones so entrenched
Through the times we lived, in the hours of heart.
Why flicker with fate, why foster nests unknown?
Why tamper the torrid tests of time that moan?

The world we know is gone to sleep, now in dream.
The moments stand altogether stronger in rhyme.
Soul knows no scented evening full of velvet course;
The women, the wine, the literature all look grim.
Freedom, that I seek, is no escape but grow my soul
Into a swan that shall cover the waves of reason.

A distant friend, a beauty almost in faraway land;
Not love, nor treason, but souls that I see in dust,
Make these emotions distant, devoid of the death,
Devoid of barren brazen boasting beats of sound.

I will meet you at some crossroad again and ask,
If it meant sense to have covered with the mask.
Am I insane, induced with engulfing enticed illusion?
Or you were the time that chiseled me into a man?

When I meet you, I will ask!

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The Slave:

Petals of rose dipped in scarlet, tossed by the wind
And frozen by the fond memories of such youth
That falters not with flickering faces or the truth
And doesn’t make a dark heart or numbered mind.
And there stands the pillar, there flows the river,
There you see a thousand mutiny now question.
Who said these clouds will settle on a mountain top?
Who said these ocean won’t touch the sky so blue?
With time’s drape all things utterly change to tune;
The Sun won’t die, the maddening sea nor the moon,
But all that we feel, we know, shall be washed soon.
What profit my verse will do to this crowded sea,
If not touch every soul, and not stand like a tree?

The Master:
No master will ever free his slave, nor will inspire;
But make them worthy enough to dream freedom.
No master will give enough bread to live forever;
But memories that will make you dream your home.
No master ever will pamper your hectored hymns;
But will leave you with enough tales of loved dreams.

The Slave:
I now know why my kind is like a nomad not nursed,
No names, no lineage, but a creed so much cursed.
Will I be free, will I write ever for my rose with no fear;
‘Those petals dipped in scarlet, tossed by the wind’?

The Master:
What if I declare you free and give a baton to lead?
Your bondage is not of the being but of an old mind.
Go now, for the verse, or to the universe and feed
Every soul with love enough and true peace to find.

You are the slave and the master of your being;
You are the song so divine and one that you’d sing.

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It was beside a small countryside bush,
Beside a faint greenery tossed in rain,
I put my first paper boat all alone
With shoulders covered by gentle love
And feet so much mounted with faith.
There comes a breeze of ancient life;
There comes an echo that it will sail well.

I turned and saw red little flowers behind;
Plucked them with love and humming
An unknown song, singing to the wind.
The boat with my name moved far to bring
Joy and join the voyage that I dreamt.
It lives the beauty of those flowers still.

There is an ahoy from my mother,
As I sail through the islands of the past
And waves of fluttering wings of souls
That I know are in as much love with life
As with their boats that voyage in time.

There will be rain again and we will make
Our paper boat together with more love.
Our heart knows we will, so it will rain.

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