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…

11

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

Realization of An Athazagoraphobia Mind

Daily Prompt: Replacement

Replacement…I wrote the word, after, finding self at loss.

Nothing comes to mind, nothing come to soul.

Words, though, get replaced by something else–

As thoughts were; they got replaced by another one–

Roaming like a vagabond from idea to idea, jumping from–

One genre to another, from dark to light, and, light to dark…

Replacement–the word is the inevitable truth to life.

Replacement, or replaced more specifically,

Keep us moving, keep us to live–not fullest,

Not the antonym–if any, s’where in between; replacement

Get replace by adjustments; that’s why friends change,

The person we love, often and mostly, get replace by another…

Its the rule name replacement that we are what we are today,

How we see our live at the moment…

From Poet’s Desk:

Athazagoraphobia is the fear of being forgotten or ignored or fear of forgetting or being replaced. 

2 Poems: Memories

 

Daily Prompt: Ten

 

–1–

 

(12)…Listen, I want to…

(11)…What’re you mumbling…

(10)…We know each other…

(09)…Say louder…I can’t…

(08)…I want to say…

(07)…Raise your voice…come close

(06)…I want…actually I

(05)…Oh god…speak loudly…

(04)…I scrape the words I want to say

(03)…And pulled her to me

(02)…My lips submitted to her pout ones

(01)…A huge blast that turns to hazy

After ten years, we were submitted to each other in the embrace…in love…

After ten years, we erase all the distance…we scraped our anxiety…

Ten…Nine…Eight…My heart counts as we kissed somberly, deeply…

Seven…Six…Five…I gave the damn who were looking at us…

Four…A bump made her embrace me more…Three..Two…One…

We couldn’t leave each other…Ten…Nine…Eight…All were dizzy…

Countdown gets into an infinite loop…

–2–

Seven…eight…nine…ten…landing…

Dida was panting heavily; I wiped her forehead which was full of beads of sweats.

How more steps…I can’t walk anymore…she said in her old-age voice–

which was not cracked or doesn’t use to tremble like other of her age.

Few more steps, Dida, come hold my hand; see, it’s only five–half of the ten…I had said…

She had taken her first step grasping my hand like Rupai used to in a crowded metro.

Three…two…one…roof…

She was panting more than before; her ebony colored face was greasy from sweats…

She had held her compressed beauty till she goes away ten months later…

Landing…ten…nine…eight…

Rupai stroke on my shoulder and said in mime language, wiping her eyes, not to cry.

Seven…six…five…

I stumbled as I carry her, on a stretcher, down to the glassed hearse with elders.

Four…three..two…

I turned around and Rupai smiled and stretching her finger over her eyes–

Says to me not to cry, again, from the second floor…

One…landing…my limbs are tired…another ten steps and then gate…and then hearse…

Then few more ten multipliers kilometers to sashaan…

Do you remember, I had taught you like this–the numbering system–when you were a child–

She pointed to the stars as she started counting the stars in the godhuli sky…

Ten months later when Rupai left me and I was counting the stars,–

I found my old darling Dida standing beside me…

panting heavy…sweating profusely…

she was looking beautiful as usual…