You will not find poetry anywhere unless you bring some of it with you. Joseph Joubert

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I’ll be there…

I’ll breathe in the letters of my last poem
Encased in orange and vermillion
Some linear transitions of my mind
Those sleep in the bare white sheet of life

Pigmented hope in starched nebula
The guitar has grudge against music
Strum those veins, you spill no blood
Now spin me some food of your words.

Undo that bow of your prim look
those words that you pinned in your hose
can you feel how I’m sinking
gliding into oblivion down your throat

Till death I know you’ll burn each letters
Written in my garden of burnt roses
Cacophony in the interim of my sick body
Unplug those nerves that bring me you

Get me grass and light me a smoke
I’ll give you a body fettered with silence
Strangle me with your brown forks
Serve me little death sprinkled with nice salt

When you would row in the dark waters
Lost in the marine shrubs, a white lotus will await you there...


Raj said...

Wow! this is very evocative and poignant stuff, friend... there is a controlled pain flowing underneath this... very touching.

Kilolo Moses said...

Reading The letter Ever Written to a beloved no more 1 - - -(Every time I tried to voice out my feelings you passed them away with an air of reluctance, apathetic and cold.), I'm surprised with the extend of agony 1 (I love you and knowing this for sure that this love will never be reciprocated I continued loving you, because this is based on no conditions.) you'd put yourself through as it is evident in I'll Be There . . .2 (Encased in . . ., pigmented hope . . .gliding into oblivion down your throat.).

What is it that he said 2 (those words that u pinned on your hose) or is or did 2(undo that bow of your prime look) that even after promising yourself 1 (So, I decide it would be wise for us to be at a distance) that you are still willing to do possibly anything 2 (I’ll give you a body fettered with silence, strangle me . . .). I wonder why when you are completely aware 1 (I have not allowed myself the love of the person who loves me in stead I love the person who is bogged down stricken by cheat from his girlfriend) AND 1, (You said I am impossible, unbearable and least lovable.) that u still go ahead and wholeheartedly promise . . .2 (When you would row in the dark waters, Lost in the marine shrubs,) that I'll be There.

Could this be a case of an irrevocable love 2 (Till death I know . . .Unplug those nerves that bring me you), or just an infatuation 1(This game of 22 days) resident in a person so deeply moved 1 (Phil introduced me to a person whose story) and unwilling to accept she's confusing the former for the latter 1 (I know for sure my love for you is so alone., . . .i continued loving you!)?

If he doesn't have any sense of truth and depth in this concept of love, and indeed you are in love with him irrevocably, i guess u'll just have to not be so intense in your approach and accept a superfluous romance life from his returns.

I reserve no rights to the credibility of my interpretation of your letter and poem, humbly stand to be corrected. But I think your work is extremely beautiful, and should it only have been fictitious, baring no actuality to present life, you are a genious both ways.


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Anupam said...

The guitar has veered away from the trodden path of symphony,
The random shooting words do traverse linear paths
You only ashen in your death, and shrink,
The cacophony inside your corpse is the orgy of some saprophytes.
Only the crimson pulsing up your carotids makes you worthwhile,
Your claim beyond love, beyond diction, scripted in passion
I can see you undead – I shall oblige.