Tag Archives: #image

Incomplete Forever

 

The eve of Sunday moving slowly towards the night.

The Azaan from a distance can be heard as the sound of a passing train.

The mind is in search of a thought that it can muse,–

while, the soul is in the mood of sitting back and enjoy the eve.

There is a serenity, there is quietude, there is this loneliness.

lonely-picture-19

The eve of Sunday moving slowly towards the night.

The chime of temple bell, that jiggles by the devotees, resonate with–

the sound of the gapped traffic. 

The mind is swimming vagabondly, trying to get hold on to a driftwood,–

while, the soul is disturbed by the ripple created by this errant sail through.

There is a calmness, there is solace, there is this solitude.

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The eve of Sunday moving slowly towards the night.

The eve traffic with muffled noise of entertainment from neighbor jiggling in ‘ween.

A lorn feeling taking birth from the blue of mind searching for a companion,

(Taking birth from) the susurration need of the body to get love, to get pampered. 

The soul sits quietly as it denied to float on this driftwood; it’s demand for a cigarette.

There is an anger, there is an arrogance, there is this posit of an incomplete forever…

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Daily Prompt: Jiggle

Poetry Challenge #6 by Tanya (Palpable Pennings)

Sacha Black’s Writespiration#105 52 Weeks in 52 Words Week 9

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Morning (An Untitled Poem/Poetry)

The canvas of that winter’s late dawn–the dawn that welcomes the early morning,

When the birds are little tired after its session of morning chore,

When insomniac, might and often, leave sigh and said another night passed,

When another few of the city woke up, the joggers and walkers and chaiwallah, 

Was colored with the hue of orange that I’ve seen on some random monsoon eve

After a spell.

The drowsy eyes of mine felt a calm, a serenity; my legs pulled me back to enter office;

The fingers that were holding a cigarette–a habit am trying to quit for months now–

Get reluctant to get up to my lips; my ears was enjoying a calmness,

After I had taken off the earphone, Beethoven Symphony 6 was the last track–

I was hearing on the popular music streaming platform online.

It’s not you, my muse, it’s not you, my new,

It is me, I realized, this morning–

It is only me–the truth I own…

From Poet’s Desk:

Couldn’t find an apt title for this poem and couldn’t determine whether it’s a poem or a poetry. (December 2016)

Thanks to Pradita Kapahi for suggesting the title. (February 2017)

Reposting this to a response of the question–So how should you go about writing as an expressionist? by  dVerse

Cher Ami…

The days were long, merry and gay. No blue. Only the vibrant happiness.

Shadow of those (each) days was now that we all have to cuddle on, to cry on.

My friend, long time haven’t heard from you; long time hasn’t met.

How’re you, my friend…What you are up to now…Did you get married or still not…

If it’s affirmative, then am angry at you for not inviting me, for not introducing to boudi“…

The shadow of those days when we were together, haunts me s’time these days…

The reason I don’t know, you know…it might be the solitude or loneliness…

No..I’ll does not tell you a thing…fix a date…let us meet…

“Boudi-Sister-in-Law

Weekly Photo Prompt: Shadow