| Username |
Post |
| amilo |
Posted
on 29-Apr-02 09:54 PM
She stared at the slammed door
With the watery eyes
From the corner of the room
With her knees tucked under her chin
And listened to the fading footsteps
That was long gone
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| NK |
Posted
on 02-May-02 10:03 PM
Amilo, let's post more poems, shall we? :)
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| djanonymous |
Posted
on 02-May-02 11:16 PM
Mera pareliharu ajhai bhijdai chhan
tara pashchatap le hoina
amilisakeko mero mooto ajhai jaldai chha
Tara pratisodh le hoina
ke naya bholi aaaula ta?
ma sabdaharu paudina
andhakarle malai gamalanga angaalo halchha....
ani charai tira sunyata...sunyata...sunyata.
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| amilo |
Posted
on 03-May-02 08:55 AM
sure NK.
I think we should make this thread for poems. And, I am open for any comments (positive or negative).
amilo
ps. djanonymous- it's a good one.
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| Sangam |
Posted
on 03-May-02 10:38 AM
In a dusty little play ground,
Next to the road
He was counting
His priceless accumulation
-Marbles, with a grimace.
Why can’t I be in that state of mind?
I got more than worthless stones.
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| NK |
Posted
on 03-May-02 11:48 AM
Sangam, wow! But one question, why the "grimace?" It is apparent, you envy him for his getting pleasure in small things (figuratively and literally).
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| From Suskera |
Posted
on 03-May-02 12:37 PM
Manhattan, an island sold
What if there may be signs of immutability
Left in the occasional winds
In the gaze of the eclipsed evening sky
In the northern chill from centuries ago
Plays in lapis lazuli
Crisscrossed airplane streaks
As the wind pierces tunnels of graffiti laden concrete blocks
A fleeting moment of epiphany,
Promises idle muse
As you crawl
Inside the belly of a train
Slither underneath Manhattan
Peddlers to the peddled, pimps to whores, vendors to customers
Boa constricters of Times Square
You stay alert
Revitalized somewhat with that ancient wind perhaps
Before the deal that sold it
You cannot but want to stand on that juncture
To see things you want to see
Faceless Crowd
Definitive Features
Traces of conversation
How thinly would humanity spread
If spread over all that live?
Eastern mystic in Maya
Like Rumi
Sufi mysticism on Public TV
Foothold of romantic despair
As when you blow smoke above into the dissipating wind
The nine holed Flute
A segment of detached reed
Plays the music of solitude
Like that flute, a person
Sings all through life to reconnect where he came from
Says Rumi
Succinct crystallization of an effusive desire
In a moment of weakness
When guards are let down
Even the tube gets you
Where is your song now?
Do you still write it on paper
Like..
Once. When? Long Ago
Doesn't matter, cannot find the way back
Shouldn't find the way back.
You are all grown up
Who do you listen to? Is it me?
Mephistopheles?? But of your own making
You think you need to hold on
You think you need to let go
You are a man, and a man is this- says Mephistopheles
Where is that from?
A line from a silver screen magic
That billboard
Or the rabid incantation of a testosterone ridden bull
Or the vision of your own flaccidness
So why can you not huddle
Gather up the knees bury your head into it,
Trample back at all costs
Say hi to the kid you once were
Looking forward to becoming you
Should you rely on without? Or within?
Can you cry? Can that man cry?
Over what? That anchors
Smile, yet sardonically
Is this Mephistopheles again?
What happened here?
In this listless pseudo lamentation
A duration has passed
The clock has ticked away
You are back on the sold island of Manhattan
Duration later
Coffee's gone the check arrives
Pay. Balance the book
Have you moved anything?
Has anything moved you?
Did anything touch you the way you wanted to be touched?
Did you attempt to make things touch you the way you want?
Such dramatic acrobatics
Still magnanimous, still pompous
But then, still a Faust
Mephistopheles still your walking stick
And so doubly Faustian
The stirring of spirits on a sold island
Metaphors, Figures and Explicit and illusions
But still on the island sold, two bits
Still a man, for a flip second humbled
Only worth, this diatribe
This scribble
Round the corner I am sure is Mephistopheles
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| NK |
Posted
on 03-May-02 09:44 PM
Nantucket
by William Carlos Williams
Flowers through the window
lavendar and yellow
changed by white curtains -
smell of cleanliness -
sunshine of late afternoon -
On the grass tray
a glass pitcher, the tumbler
turned down, by which
a key is lying - And the
immaculate white bed
(Carlos Williams is considered one of the greatest modern day poet. He writes about simple things such as stone, plums, a room (as in this case) as some people would write about certified beautiful things such as moon, ocean, blue sky...)
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| NK |
Posted
on 06-May-02 11:39 AM
[I forgot we had this thread for poems.]
Elizabeth Has Some Questions
When I charred my body with a big ball of fire
Did you rush to put out, my dear?
When I lay in that white bed , water dripping in my vein,
Did you push away strands of hair off my face?
Did you pray? Did you shake with fear?
Did you hold my blackened hand and put it against your lips?
Did any tear flow? Did your lips quiver?
Are you going to put a white Lily,
On top of the mound when I am gone?
And, let a slow sigh of relief?
Will you look back? Or, will you look ahead?
Did you hear that phone ringing the other night?
Were the hands too busy to pick it up?
Please, let’s not make this a trip to
An abyss of guilt,
But you see, I have some questions.
Will you cry my dear?
I am wondering,
My love, Will our paths cross again?
Do you believe in afterlife? Will you then
Hold my hands once again,
And bless me with your embrace?
Are you going to put a whit Lily
On top of the mound when I am gone,
And, let a slow sigh of relief?
Will you look back, Or, will you look ahead?
NK
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| am |
Posted
on 09-May-02 10:53 AM
another pessimistic view:
Bride
Red painted nails
Four-dozen bangles
Gold necklaces, earrings, bracelets
Adorned in a red sari
She sobbed
Watching
Raped dreams
In the blazing fire
Taunting her
Every face mocking
Her future being a live drama
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| Sangam |
Posted
on 09-May-02 02:08 PM
"At the airport"
Feeble souls,
Wrinkles,
Bald spots,
Ageing missed
By a generation
A hug
-Warm,
A kiss
-Love,
Missed smiles
By a generation
Holding hands
-Support,
Words
-Unspoken,
Drops of tears
For each day missed
By a generation
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| christi |
Posted
on 09-May-02 02:41 PM
tock ...tock....tock....
tock....tuk......tuk......
tuk..tuk..tuk........tuk
Footsteps?...yes...that's it..
I said to myself......
listening...
each and every second
he is coming near...
death is coming near..
that's what my mind said..
tuk...tuk....tuk...
hands shaking...hearts beating...
scared to death...
each moment passed by like a year..
picture of the knife
blood on the floor..
cry of my mom loud and clear
teared my heart to a million pieces
as the sound became much more near
tuk..tuk...bang...
phew...that was my own friend's prank
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