My Book of Poems, m.1.2.3.m [top 20 books to read .TXT] 📗

To See the Summer Sky

To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie --
True Poems flee --
- Emily Dickinson





It's teeth- clatteringly wintry
as I pick up my pen
to write down whatever comes to me
from the sacred haven

of a most thoughtful mind that fences
observance and intrigue.
Even vanilla experiences,
never fail to amuse.

So, here just for you
is a, hopefully, wondrous bloom,
of things in life that give joy true
while others, in misery, loom.

The ones that make you cry in glee,
That make you weep in sorrow.
The ones that unfold a- front a sea
of glittering hopes in the morrow.

Thanks to some, it's a wince in pain,
From others, laughter bubbles.
A dreamy ride down memory lane
or the shuddering thought of troubles.

And thus does the book talk of the world-
how happy is happy; what you mean by sad.
And as you read on, you peal each whorl
of that wondrous bloom you had...

NIGHT

Starry eyed, I stare at the night sky
dabbed all ebony and mauve.
A terrible, sickening black lie.
An oyster's shell above

and below, encasing pearly earth.
Pimpled it is, and freckled
with stars and moon. A real mirth
of dark and cold pickled

into one malicious mix-- funereal, deflating.
A rather wan discomfit,
with bleary black dominating
throughout the endless stretch, unlit.

The tender grass blades, dewy and crisp,
had lost their glossy green,
when touched, they were, by the fingertips
of moon's showy sheen.


'CRICK' a nocturnal chirps away.
A beetle lazily joins.
And this humdrum, in a noisy way
adds to the silence of night's confines.

I look up at the night sky--
The blackness so haughty, unwilling to depart.
And all at once I want to cry...
it's no darker than my heart!

For the atrocities of life cruel,
have buried deep a stake
in the estranged nub, oh, so surreal
once! Now fresher turmoils like shitake

bloom rapidly in a lone bosom,
making remnants of hope further perish.
And bloody barbarity of this lonesome
haunt, frighteningly reluctant to diminish.

So very haughty and unwilling to depart!
Like the deep, dark, delirious and cold,


Night is my very own heart,
because of misfortunes untold.

For all it's worth, the blistered heart will hurt-
thirsty and sore and pained.
The world just laughs, it's colder and curt.
The heart? It's smutty and stained.

True, the cruel world will always deter,
unable to bear another's good, alas!
But time, I know, is the best healer.
It may last long, but this too shall pass.

And as the night is gulped with time
I'll have my day, sure, without a doubt!
For gold always wins in this untiring mime-
night'll take flight as the sun comes out!

In tangle of space and time bizarre,
lonely, solitary, forlorn.
Rests dreamy earth in despair,
waiting patiently for morn!


S

o Long!

The shimmering sun is smiling-
its a very happy day.
A merry heart is singing
after being away...
...for so long!

And glassy stars are twinkling,
curtained in beady sheets of rain.
Clouds, like candy floss, are sailing
with immense joy again...
...after so long!

It's a treat to the eyes-- bright, beautiful.
Like an enlightening revelation.
Lord, so ecstatic and colorful
is the present situation...
...after so long!

The heart was stony then-
it has definitely melted now.


And flowered to a scenic Eden,
all glittering, and how!...
...after so long!

I see the azure sky gleaming,
spread smooth like a dome.
With cotton clouds sailing,
Ah! I am finally home...
...after so long!

All of nature is a gift
Its kingdoms day and night
meant solely to uplift,
enchant and give delight!...
...all along!

Everything has it's own dazzling glow
all cucumber green in sight.
Highlighting, what we already know-
nature's got magic, all right...
...Oh, after so long!...

SLEEP

Sleep, ah sleep! Oh, sweet, sweet sleep,
caressing lovingly, heavy, tired eyes.
Give me the key, for I can only peep
at the dreamland which, beyond your door lies.

Sleep, ah sleep! Oh sweet, sweet sleep,
do come now-- make me forget my past.
Only when you fill me can I reap
the imaginary rewards of dreams long lost.

Sleep, ah sleep! Oh sweet, sweet sleep,
curtain my heart, so cold, so weary.
I want to fall in you- as deep as deep
and forget the past, so brazen and bleary.

I need you now-- I haven't been sleeping.
Alas, I have been treated very

bad.
I'm hurt, I'm cut, have been bleeding and weeping,
I've given away whatever I had.

Sleep, ah sleep! Oh sweet, sweet sleep
Perhaps it's your sister I like better.
I don't want to keep facing this steep
cliff of life, a jagged heather.

Death, ah death, sweet sister of sleep,
My heart is like a dusty ball, how
ruthlessly kicked about! Do please keep
your promise and muffle the lub dub

now.

Death, ah death, sweet sister of sleep,
The acrid sights of unrelenting gloom
are killing me. Think no more...just sweep
me in you and avert pending doom!

Sleep, ah sleep! Oh sweet, sweet sleep,
I have been harried, harassed, assaulted.
Like a meek mule jarring under a heavy heap
Lend me a helping hand now, oh Exalted!

Sleep, ah sleep! O, sweet, sweet sleep,
now I cannot open my eyes anymore.
Give me the key so I can take a peep
at the other world that lies beyond your door....






FIRE

I fail to understand this bubbling ire
of a huge, herculean, iridescent fire.
Fuming in me, filling my insides
in thick black smoke, towering like tides
in a scornful weather.
Only it is such an insufferable bother.
Soaring up, dauntless, the blood curding spirit
is looming within me. Yes, I am badly hit!
It's goal, though, it has

accomplished-
my poor soul is irreversibly tarnished.
Yet sadly, of leaving, it shows no sign
what belonged to me once is now no longer mine.
So, there it is-- blazing, piping hot,
strangling me hard. It hurts a lot!
Squirming it's way like some kind of snake,
all mouldy remains of merriment to make
it's own. Now, I know... I know

it isn't fair
but the fire's in- charge here, I cannot dare
so much as freely breathe.
It screams with laughter as I writhe underneath
an unforgiving grasp and looks on wry
as hungry flames lick me up, oh my!
The choking hot will roast and` fry
all jubilation I have known- how I want to cry!
But tears will not affect anymore,
it's gluttonous tongue, glutinous with gore.
There's no pain like pain from the charring of soul,
that sears completely, a bloom to a hole.
And in the pandemonium of everyday life
does gleam the point of its tapering knife.
Hell hot is all bottled within,
raging and fuming into a maddening din
I have run out of water, Lord, what should I do?
How do I fight something as mythical as true?
Now, will it ever leave, this demon consistent?
This is the one question currently persistent.
But I fear by it's grip and over- whelming hold
I'll be long dead before it turns cold!



FIRE

There is a fire, I agree,
feeding on whatever I call ecstasy,
burning in undisguised frenzy,
it is thick and smoggy as can be.
It's like fire in a forest on a dry autumn day,
Fire at it's best,
no hope anyway.
Even if all West- Winds are made my lyre,
this is the kind that jut won't tire.
And my whole being does tremble
before this horrendous ensemble.
Wait, why can't I see? There are the ashes, of course!
Their very smoky whiffs should remove all remorse.
Who knows, out of the ashes, a phoenix may arise?
And give mutilated patience a grand surprise.
Then it'll for itself see,
how everything is unkempt and frowzy.
Thence will it gain motivation,
from the exploding conflagration.
And so will the regal sphinx take flight
in the blazing furnace of heat and light
to simply snip off the head
of the monster, gold and red.
True hope is swift and flies with swallow's wings
Kings it makes Gods and meaner creatures kings

So though the present's fuelled with fire and fury
I have hope; I have patience...I needn't worry....





WINTER

The blood is frozen in my very veins-
it's a deadly draughty day.
The fingers, stiff, are all pins
and needles, the heart dreams of May.

In a space far nippier than before
with each step I take, I seem to enter.
It is as if I am right at the core
of an arctically

icy centre

The air around, so quiveringly frosty,
with every breath, vapour turns
Winter, I guess, doesn't like it frowsty-
it is so cold, it burns

.

My hands have turned a morbid white
Winter in me has snaked
but its not all that uncommon, right?
Even the mighty Earth is caked

in snow, which showers in cascades.



Clothing expertly in blinding white,
proud, as it lets all other colors fade,
with it's domineering might.

See, blushing roses are pale in wilting
and fragrant daffodils a tad less yellow
This is the snow that knows no melting
Only stacks up as chilly winds blow.

No wool or fur can defrost the blood
nothing can blow a warmth new
thanks to the season's metallic stud
piercing remnants of strength to black and blue.

Though it faints as the many months go by,
winter is never very kind,
I won't bother to ask why,
I won't bother to try and find.

Because, most importantly, I pull through.
after all that I have and have not
The heart continues a bright red hue
a crackling fireplace is all I got.

Though my skin might be as good as dead,
there mightn't be a thing I can feel,
but the heart inside is a a warm, bright red
hearth, which will certainly not yield

to winter's bewitching sway
unlike the deep yolk yellow of the sun, supreme
which melts so readily to translucence, nay....
the heart...the heart is one safe, sweet dream.





The Wind

I feel very inspired today
It's definitely more than some humble lay.
The wind on my face is blowing
and with my hair are it's finger's playing,
the same way they sway dancing blades
of yellow rice in a paddy field.
Cool, refreshing, awakening, liberating
away with it, fine lines taking--
those that have appeared with age
and sorrow and worry
on my careworn face-
The wind does fill every empty