Author: poetryfest

Pink, little soft, often wilting, smelling like wet rot.
These flowers come to me throughout the day,
Fleeting and impermanent, worth not much, but a lot,
For a moment, they make life worth living.

Sprouting green things, losing light things,
Pieces shake off with the slightest move.
So fragile, most not for planting,
Pre-cut to ensure the ideas never take root.
Simple memories I bring to bed and not beyond.

I too have been losing light things,
Not as swiftly, but more fearfully.
I was always wary to lose petals,
So much so, I failed to appreciate my true blooms,
I chose to anticipate the wilting ahead,
And now might have missed my strongest hour,
Preoccupied by the thought of a fall from grace,
And loss of youthful beauty.

Because I was taught there is no beauty beyond youth,
Once the flowers in the vase start to droop,
You toss them out.
With the rest of the things you have no use for.

I am trying to claim the rest of my time,
And gather roots where there weren’t meant to be any,
And find a way to soak in the sun,
And grow, to spite this prophecy,
For one of the best smells, is the wilting of flowers,
It’s the closest to true earth.

Before the end, I write a rhyme, to confess the story about my life of crime.
I’ve stolen everything there is to take, whether it was real or it was fake.
I lied to justices about things that weren’t true, even when I didn’t have to.
During tests I’ve had answers written in my hand, that I couldn’t understand.
I’ve wasted moments and years with idle-sadness and cold-hearted tears.
I’ve disrespected those that gave me life, dreamed of cutting them off like a knife.
I’ve desired other peoples’ things, whether it’s their lovers or their rings.
I’ve done all these sins and more live in my mind, but I hope to be free of them, just in time

“Hello God, are you there? Hello. Hello ”
No answer….
‘Hello-o-o-o”
Still no answer.
Suddenly, a crackling sound likestatic electricity….
“Yes. May I help you?”
“God is that really you?”
“Well, it’s not Jimmy Kimmel””Sorry. I was justsurprised.”
“Then why did you call meif you didn’t expect me to behome?”
“Oh, it’s not that, I somehow thought you wouldn’t bother to answer.”
“Well, now I feel insulted. What kind of a God do you think I am? I may be very busy but I never ignore a call for help. You do need help?Right? No one ever calls on me just to shoot the breeze. They always want help with one problem or another.”
“Well, I’m not really calling for help. I just wanted to see if I could reach you.”
“How did you get my number? It’s not in the book.”
“You mean it’s unlisted?”
“No. It’s not unlisted either. It’s just not in the book.”
“I don’t understand….”
“I mean the operator has it. You just have to call the operator.”
“But how can that be?They always ask ‘What city Please?'”
“True. No wonder I don’t get many phone calls. So how did you reach me?”
“I just dialed at random,hoping I’d somehow reach you.Then when I heard your answering machine saying This is God. I can’t come to the phone right now, but if you leave a message,etc., etc., So, I took a chance that you might be there and kept saying ‘hello’ figuring if you were home maybe you’d pick up.”
“Alright. Well, now that you’ve got my attention, what do you want?”
“I wanted to ask you a question.”
“What kind of question?”
“A scientific one.Science doesn’t think you exist.”
“Ah, yes. Those scientists. They always demand proof.”
“If you allow me to tape this conversation, I’d have proof.”
“No. They’d just say my voice belonged to some nut.”
“Maybe I am talking to a nut. How do I know you’re really God?
“Oh, yea of little faith….”
“I still don’t have proof.”
“You want proof? I’ll give you proof. Just look around you. I am all there is.”
“You mean you’re not upthere sitting on a thronesomewhere? You’re everywhere atonce?”
“That’s correct”
“You mean when I die I’m not going to see you?
“Correct again! Well, let me revise that. If you can see me now, you’ll see me then. If you can’t see me now, you won’t see me then.”
“Now I’m confused….”
“It’s really quite simple. I am with you always. I am with you and you are with me.There can be no separation. There is only apparent separation when you take the mortal route and not the spiritual route. You can’t sense my presence when you are angry or hateful or envious or jealous, etc. But when you feel within you love and kindness and compassion and consideration forall, you are allowing me to express myself through you. At those moments we are one. In this way I am all powerful. You are all powerful. And nothing can come to us of an inferior nature.We are peace, we are power, we are infinitely intelligent. We are all there is.
The answer is quite simple. There is no need to look in books for the answer. The answer is within you.”
“Thank you God.”
“You’re welcome.”
Click.

If I said only 2 words would you hear me. Instead of Silence your heart feels each day. You matter in the world caught up In different values and the feeling that you have no say. you matter to all of the people that love you but, don’t understand you in any way. you matter

for every dream that you’ve had and aloud to cast away. you matter
You matter, just like all of the life that had become still, the dreams that were just lost Until.

It was some wetter dark rain
which began pattering
above my face ,
through those three windows.

These torrents ,pouring
against glass panes ,
beneath star reflections.
All of a sudden such shinning seemed wetter.

His wings, so soft yet mighty ,whose arms were to envelop my very fragile space.
If I allowed them inside.
He sang a song unknown to most.
But I heard him .
I heard him !

I wanted to kneel to my knees .
But it was cold .
So I stood still ,
looking upwards .

The heat was not working well
with it’s orange electric firelight floating beneath it’s luke warmth on to our beige stones.

Was I in a temple build by angels?
Were they whispering through these windswept waters ?
Maybe someone has came into my soul softly ?

And I heard him ,
I heard him .

This sudden conjunction of Saturn with Jupiter
bumping into radiance this night,
within our winter solstice .

What more was there to say ?
Nothing more really to say .

I raced down the stairs to make sure the
oven was off and the percolator unplugged.
Their sizzle and steam from morning would now
have to wait ,for just another day .

I watch my mother peak into her new day
almost afraid to greet it ,
yet helplessly obligated to it.

Perhaps ,sometimes I don’t know where I am when awackening .
Maybe most of us don’t ?
Do we ?

But tonight I looked up
Listening…
It was different under their radiance .
Those stars ,this week
before Christmas .

I yearned to kneel and pray.
Then sighed, staring upwards before sighing again.
What was it I heard,
was the sound so near ?
Were you never far ?

As I cranked open each window,
a sliver of space admitted sounds of snapping wind inside of some sacred space of my heart you found .

Which found my face ,
until it became sprayed
into this new night ‘s babtism.

So you were born ,
So you were born .

Come Gabriel,
Come ,
Come blow your horn !

today I bit into a cucumber
which pricked my tongue with
the offensive, ear-waxy taste of poison.
and
at that exact moment
my vice president was on the news
on a reel about the abortion laws
which followed the reel about
farmers suffering in this economy.
the vice president said that
the vast majority of people in this country
wish for abortion to be a federally protected right.

I agreed.

yet
at that exact moment
my stomach filled with dread
and I wondered with respect to my position
just a handful of miles off the military base

whether that cucumber was indeed poisoned.
whether that poison was indeed intended for me.

because I could look her in the face
through a screen
and know without pause in my nauseous gut
that she was full of shit.

it wasn’t what she said because
that was factually, common-sensically
true.

the proposed bans had us
of sound heart and mind
rightfully
teeming
on the edge of our own insurrection
one that would be far more intelligent
and far more successful
than the one which targeted Alex Ocasio-Cortez.

it was the unmoving void
in madame vice president’s eyes.

it taunted me that I had been right
to suspect that
with minimal exceptions
neither of these primary-colored cancers we call representative parties
could care any less
about the ants which scream and scatter
in hopes of escaping their spyglass-magnified
ultraviolet beams
at the base of Mount Olympus.

that gut of mine
threatened to spew its contents until
liquid and green
but
continued to speak thusly:

“They knew their colleagues would do this.
And they let them.”

these noble crusaders
in dignified blue
are resigned to the federal fire department.
every four years
then every two
we must call upon them
begging
pleading
that they extinguish the choking blaze
with a spray of mercy
pumped from trucks
which trail their own
corrosive
combustible
fuel.

they, too, bleed gold.

and they have seen
dissenters
poisoned
for knowing less.

So cold
the river below
as I stand here on the edge of my death

mesmerized by the splash of my shoe
as it hits the water
exposing my polished toes
and the air reveals my breath

it won’t be long now
I won’t have to wait

just like that stiletto
I’ve sealed my fate

a chill blows through me,
my skin braces for the pain
entering that frigid water
will most certainly bring

One million ice shards
greeting my skin
again…
again

I let this silk dress
slip down my body
to pool at my feet

for all of the warmth
it was not providing me

to stand here naked
for no one to see

the river is cold and wide
and wild and deep

these remnants
will be all of what’s left of me.

lips red as wind burnt skin
eyes blue as the frozen misery I’m in

I free the last of me held captive;
soft, flaxen hair
now dancing on the breeze

Arms wide open
with a smile
I breathe…

the distant sirens and voices
holding no sway

I step forward
fall,
unafraid.

You passed away before me
I was really sure that you’d live another day again
You convulsed and I tried to shake you back to life
I had no idea that you were dying
A last breath I thought would breathe you to life
A last shake I thought was mere discomfort
A last blink I thought sight as usual
And a last sigh I thought was struggle with communication
You were dying and I had no idea
I was never prepared
Never rehearsed
Never knew this is how your ending would be
Never knew this is how endings and deaths look
I kissed you goodbye and thought the grief would leave with you, but it stayed with me
A cold, crippling stream of grief engraved its roots and interconnected through my dna
I was now a fatherless child
A depressed one
A moved, shaken and damaged one
A broken one
A child given loss on a silver platter
Lifeless
I became spoilt goods
Unworthy of a father
Unworthy of your silence
Unworthy of the thoughts and unsaid words in the silence
Unworthy of your embrace again
Unworthy of your wisdom, smile, laughter, cheek kisses and prayer
Lifeless
Speechless
A speechless poet
I can’t even utter a word anymore
Can’t even describe what it felt like
Can’t even bring the therapist to understanding to giving the right diagnosis through my communication
Mute
I hope one day my words will speak me and revive me and give life to a heart as lifeless as mine

The milky breasts are trying to get out of the blouse’s torn.
In the corner of the footpath;like a bloody red chicken;
wrap up by the bowel batches;into the blood flowing dust;
the human embryo is breathing.In the crowd;
people are watching this scene on the way;like a popular cinema.
The crazy woman is trying to get up on a large scale on two hands.
But she’s falling down again and again.
Due to delivery; there is a lot of bleeding.

With so many bloodshed;freedom did not comes in this country.

In a distance;a journalist is looking at the camera angle
to present the story in a newsletter.Traffic police busy
to move the crowd.The red signal minister will go from
this road for election campaign.By getting reports of maternal
dementia; Some people have come from a Christian missionary.
Somebody of these are the title holders of Saint from Vatican City.
From the poor country;the demand of the newborn is very much abroad.
They donate fat thick donations.It was a few days earlier;
like mouse kids,had ready to run the newborn babies of kolkata;
The police rescued them from the nursing home.
Gloves in hand face with mask; like the detective; social workers
are moving forward towards the madwoman.Public eyelids are not falling.

-Who has made pregnant this crazy woman?
– opposition.

When the red signal and siren have closed;
The minister whisperly said on the ears of his intimate police.
– Make a good inquiry!
The prostitutes of this country’s politics;to get publicity;
let’s raise his mother in line.

In the hands of opposition cadres; rape of the madwoman.Hot cakes.
Before the judgment of the coat; the vote will be end.

The opposition has also participated in this event with their teams.
A group of opposition; found a caste of the crazy woman.
They’re calling the madwoman ;”Sita Maiya”.
No Ravana is not a rapist; the arrow is towards Muhammad.
And another group of opposition;does not want to get religion votes.
They are very worried about the safety of girls;after losing political power.
For the failure of the government;when the field is shaking by blowing
flags with slogans;before handling the situation by the police;
frenzy woman suddenly threw some spit on the face of constitutional agents.

Like acid;there is no toxicity in the thunder’s hatred.Teeth, face, nose-eye
did not fall off.Drought has not been burnt the dirty democracy and Sovereignty of this country. Some wants to kick on the abdomen of the frenzy woman.

But they are scared.

In the crowd of curious people;how many human tender; the entire scenario
is being captured on mobile.In the evening sitting in the media;
Feminists and humanists will be discussed about human rights of many cultivated.
After returning home;the intellectuals would like to tasting their women’s body
on the bed.They don’t like any excuse of menses.Somebody of their favorite women;
Whenever reaches the police station against the husband;like childhood vaccine spot;
the intellectual’s favorite band cigarette stamps are found on the whole body of
that woman.

Not to criticize.
Just pushing the crowd of trams, bus and procession;return at home;
Indian women count nails census on her breasts.

The madwoman shouted again;
– “Showing love for sexual desire!”

Some people laugh with hidden teeth.Some people are exchanging views.
Like a dog; the crazy woman caught by the trap of a rope.
After injection on her hip; she fell asleep.
For the purpose of civilized society;no one understood the meaning
of his unholy word!

I do not know that today’s children will be living?
From Kashmir to Kanyakumari, all over India; I am feeling her as India’s mother.
Without she; all of us are sick .

He conks out on the pillow
As typed pages fall to the floor.
Eyes shut, the man collects unbroken images
And turns off the bed lamp.

Far away, in the dark, she reads the day
On the led lighted cell phone and enters
Her daily parallel world of communion.
It has been dark decades of celibacy/restraint/abstinence and purdah.

The lamppost at the street corner sends shadows into the room.
Street dogs are quiet. A cicada still sends distant droning shrills.
She sets the alarm and puts away her phone.
Now the woman realizes there is another person opposite to her.

There is a sound of life five feet from her place on the bed.
The woman can count on this wheezing at meticulous intervals.
She feels odd not to do anything to quiet his croaky metronome.
Why doesn’t she joggle the man? Why doesn’t she leave him?

There are bounds between humans that go unanswered, though.
The woman needs his rough night sound:
It has become one of the few ties to bound them.
It means a chance of overcoming the hurt he has inflicted upon her.

Will it happen one day? Will he realize it?
He ignores it : his final strike.
The woman has lost her lust.