I Write My Own Story
I create
delivering a composition
of myriad emotions
cocooned in me
my blood and insides
a twisted tale which
descends into depths
of union, of ecstasy
a forceful passage
dark tunnels fiercely
contracting into voids
an abundant first cry
delivered with respite
I give birth
to significance
I give birth
am exorcised of
pain, and shame
I give birth
to begin again
reborn into
my cyclical
ability to refresh
renew
reclaim
The Trophy to Inaction
Rain drops trickle over reams of parched earth
Fragrance wisps filter heaven's own aroma
Crack lines eagerly soak up the damp air
Our extraordinary earth thirsty and in dearth
Living loss, desperation and a denial coma
Miracles grope in a still effort, to
Wash the ground of its pulsating fear
Breaking down, farmers' suicides, hoping for hope
Dramatic profits cannot compensate for collective distraction
Flash mob like, nature is engaging every witness
Schizophrenic weather, intoxicated elements
An abused earth trying to cope with us
Billions of years of our abuse
Water and sky becoming a past life extinction
Will be the trophy to our inaction, unless we
Abort this promotion of economic progress
Choose to gift your children a lineage
of vibrancy and mirth; not a horrific stillness
Recycled Gods?
Jesus Peter Thomas
born here or there
white, brown or beige
does not matter
he converted the merciless to mercy
Shiva Trilogy Gods Goddesses
names of enlightenment
does not matter
they too men and women
taught us to stay enchanted in
that which is within, beyond and of us
Moses Haredi Secular
Rabbis or courts or texts
does not matter
love and humanity
3000 years, of belief
rooted in the greater good
that was and will be
Buddha Zen Tibetan
prayer, chanting or mysticism
does not matter
all point to
impermanence and training
for detachment towards happiness
God(s) or his signposts
messiah(s) or their songs
does not matter
inevitably being demolished
replenish your awe
or standby and spectate
cobwebs entangle texts
cacophony creak sermons
lethargy indulges God
along and into an abyss
and the fable will end
fledglings we dare
recycle God(s)
Portraits
Sister
washing dishes
scraping archaic remnants
expectations handcuff her essentials
Subjugation
Brother
playing marbles
fudging cosmic control
disproportionate insolence defines him
Belligerence
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All the four poems are exceptional in many ways." An abudant first cry delivered with respite and exorcised of pain and shame " are unique expressions of contrasts . Pleasure and relief of one and traumatic pain and shame of the other have been depicted in an unparralled manner. Then the poet concern for exploitation of earth and anxiety to save environment in her second poem should perhaps find a place in elaborate conferences on Environment in the world forums The caste, creed and religious hatred generate by some have been given a strong slap by the poet in "Recycled Gods"And reliving the memories of time spent with a sister and Brother touches the heart string of all parents who have seen their children growing togather and now Separated .your poetry is maturing fast and God willing heading for some international RecgnitionPunch has rightly given space to your poems C PAL SINGH
C pal singh
Aug 24, 2019 at 17:36