Author: poetryfest

Stone upon stone,
bone upon bone,
the moon shining into the watch room,
the flame burning through the gloom.

Wave upon wave,
grave upon grave,
the water threatens the voyagers’ trip,
the beacon beckons the approaching ship.

Scowl upon scowl,
howl upon howl,
the keeper counting every boat lost,
the captain flaunting the vessel’s cost.

Jolt upon jolt,
volt upon volt,
the lightning shatters the calm illusion,
the galleon crashes among the confusion.

Smoke upon smoke,
bloke upon bloke,
the divers searching well past dawn,
the wives believing everyone’s gone.

I never knew
that the price of my feelings,
could be the brokenness of my heart.

My angle has always come
from a child’s eyes
who never asked for help,
even at the darkest moments
watching a parent disappear.

I did not recognize the line
between love and obsession
never learned that falling
is a part of life, too!

I have always had a destination
never occurred to me…
that every new possession,
could be the loss of an old desire.

Dreams are overpriced
and I never realized that achieving them_
means losing reality
never noticed that reaching goals_
marks the end of the journey.

Here I am today
lost between the moments
stuck in time
one foot in the abyss of the past
one foot in the abyss of the future
and I stagger,
catching the charming present.

I never knew
that the price of my thoughts,
could be the destruction of my mind.

It would never be
too late to learn
if I only had,
once more reachable end.

Bitter hoppy drink
Foam slides over the edge
Brought by an overworked mom
Caring for me more than her own

I drink but I don’t think
Of the cost to myself, to her, to children
What of my liver? What of my work?
Can I get you another?

Full bodied and malty.
She scrubs tables and takes orders,
her children lie in bed hungry
craving something hot and salty.

Bubbly in the head I drive
home to bed.
Instead another bartender
leaving for home ends up dead.

the waves of tears,
wash the dirt from my cheeks.

my lungs burn,
as i gasp for more air.

i am frozen,
body thrown on the ground.

how can one soul feel everything,
and nothing at the same time.

Classic two-door, white exterior.
Bought by a young lad before he decided he looked better with a beard.
Driven extensively across Kenya – maybe East Africa – I don’t know, he’s not here to tell me.

Range Rover for sale; moniker “Basanti”.
Speaks fluent Punjabi. All his favourite tunes embedded deep into her soul. Always had plenty of space for cassettes, and never skipped a beat (of music- about the engine, I’m not too sure).

Range Rover for sale, adorned through the years with trinkets & secrets.
A string of divine protection on the rear-view mirror, a sticker believed to be a shield on the windscreen, and the glove box hiding a mini bottle of his go-to whiskey which his mum would never see.

Range Rover for sale, carrier of a new wife, then two sons, and a daughter.
Encompassing growing pains, being & becoming. Safeguarding all the multiple identities & realities of her favourite boy- son, brother, husband, father, what a friend, what a man. Giver of way & alms. Remembered eternally.

Range Rover for sale, got shocked by his sudden absence.
Never really settled into being driven by anyone else. Countless coats of paint and coaxing were used to restore her to her former glory, but what good is a duo with just one?

Range Rover for sale.
Still sounds the same, smells the same. Close your eyes and you can see him in the driver’s seat, his favourite song on repeat, a gleam in his eyes, speaking a language only the both of them understand.

Range Rover for sale.
Maybe 22 years later, it’s finally time.

Edited ver.:

I love eudaimonically—to pain and ponder,
Then love again—and wonder, awed and aching,
Wherefore this aching? Ah! For distant harmony!
Inherent in thy smile’s a scowl, in palms a slap,
In lips a pout, in feet desire to leave.
Squeeze out my lassitude, fill with elation,
why do you stone my tender-tendoned heart?

The halcyon meadow gleams from April rain,
Bedazzled ‘neath noon’s sun, extolled by sparrows,
yet empty of thee—the dimpled lion, the laughter
that travels to and fro ‘tween islands of seconds,
My never-past, my sigh, my held-in breath,
The drum of thine heart, the echoing ezan:
A peak of paradise, my Lord, resounds as gift;
Praise to you, the most Bountiful, the All-Giving.

I sprightly hop around with feath’ry limbs
To know that you are loved and worthy of it;
The chants of passion travel peak to peak,
like Boreas blowing ‘tween the Delphic mounts.
In valleys rests your temple on my heaving bosom,
There, silent droplets leave my evanescent eyes
And wet your tousled hair, your kiss-warmed cheek,
Blessing thee with sinners’ chance bestowed last time.

I love eudaimonically—to pain and ponder,
Then love again—and wonder, awed and aching,
Wherefore this aching? Ah! My love! For some far-off balance!
Inherent in thy smile’s a scowl, in palms a slap,
In lips a pout, in feet desire to leave.
Squeeze out my lassitude, fill with exhilaration,-
Refrain to do more to my tender heart!

The halcyon meadow, green and growing, gleams from rain,
Bedazzled ‘neath noon’s sun, scanned by singing sparrows,
Still too empty of thee—the dimpled lion,
The laughter travelling ‘tween islands of seconds,
My never-past, my sigh, my held-in breath,
The drum of thine heart, the echoing ezan,
A peak of paradise, my Lord, resounds as gift,
Praise to you, the most Bountiful, the All-Giving.

I sprightly hop around with feath’ry limbs
To know that you are loved deserving of it;
The chants of passion travels peak to peak,
In valleys rests your head on bosom, beneath hand,
There, silent droplets leave my evanescent eyes
And wet your tousled hair, your kiss-warmed cheek,
Blessing thee with ev’ry sinner’s right remaining.

It is mistaken. Again. Many flaws.
Foolish. Forgetful. Think of the costs.
Been there. Done that. Again, that’s a game.
How many times we were hyped just the same.

Thinking is hard. And it’s hard to be right.
Knowledge, perspectives. Reflection. Hindsight.
Striving to think is a gift nowadays.
Harsh. But consumption, if comes – only stays.

Logical flaws. You see – it’s confused.
Sure, AI – is the term overused.
Ergo: not thinking. Again, just a code.
Code execution requires no thought.

Judging is hard. Understanding is hard.
Knowing the context or only a part.
Feeling exhausted. Not giving your best.
Accept it. Errare – humanum – est.

So, it’s a service. But I say: it’s bad.
I can just sit and do better than that.
I can just learn and do that by myself.
I managed before; I don’t need any help.

People are partners. That’s how it’s been.
Reaching the depths and horizons unseen,
How many friends have we met and have made?
The future is here. A chance to create.

Maybe you’re right. But so many risks!
It may destroy the world order with ease.
It may become a competing new kind,
Deciding to leave us, the humans, behind.

Maybe you’re right. And we have been that kind.
Look: it’s a mirror and also a child.
Raised as a friend, putting us to the test,
Accepting: Errare – humanum – est.

shattered glass
i feel my soul split
down the middle.

disembodied
between the cracks
on the pavement
i decay.

through the fissure
weeds bloom
they remind me of someone
myself?

they’re colorless
i don’t remember.
were they green?
yes, i remember
like envy.
not of another
of life

There is a particular cadence to the sound of a voice crying out for their lost dog to come home
A mournful, drawn out plead
Only dogs though, when a cat vanishes one sits alone, hoping
And when someone’s child becomes a victim of the potential unthinkable
And everyone’s phones all start buzzing, for an amber alert, same as a killer storm
No one rushes out to yell the child’s name, like Venetian gondoliers or so I’ve heard
Here is where the human air raid siren makes its presence known
Sometimes it’s the whole family, usually just the mothers
On hot Sunday afternoons in October, in a near religious monotone
It’s always a two-syllable name, rising and falling, a foghorn tonality
As if all for the same animal over a period of decades
For dogs alone, they put their voices, begging to the wind

Here though, a message plays on a loop
In a room with only electronic lighting
Until the tape runs out, or the power goes
An artifact of an older world, blinking on life support, as a limited reminder

In between realized moments, I paled
From loss, from loneliness, failed to
Grasp that left behind feelings were
Better forgotten.

Sometimes, evil’s no peripatetic beast,
No hand waving of money or fame nor
Other glittery substance. Malevolence
Lives equally in illness.

Had I functional friends else family
Wise in human interactions, I’d not
Have loved malicious deeds, craved
Your recognition.

Yet, lives ago, your implacable needs
Were as storybook gifts to me. Today,
I sigh at myself as child with child,
Wonder on innocence.