asamvav111

Drowning Blue… blue… many shades of blue Some green mixed with some grey Surprise mixed with sadness Awe separated from jealousy A serene perfection of existence From beneath the mirror looking up towards the heavens of the mid day sky Azure longings turning into height of disdain And broken hearts bleed poisonous green Pus-sy yellow disbelieving the lie of red Will you be my valentine behind the water curtain? A solitary kiss of rainbow emotio

Extreme Unction Unloved, Unkissed, Unconfessed sins Of hidden romances, Daring lusts to reach the heavens of Unmuted affections. Uncouth, Unknown, Undesired attraction Of objects lost, To deny the existence of Unseen memoirs of transgressions. Unforgiven, Untold, Unending love. 15/05/16

The Communion There are many stages of making love First there is the Look A Look, that which can melt the stars and feed a million souls Then the Unveiling Like that of the most precious of the presents A slow sensuous unwrap The Indulgence is next Deliberate movements across the landscape Appraising the scenery of touch Then comes the Immaculate kiss A divine surrender of a watchful heart And the rest is a blur of motions of negative spaces

Dirges and Obituary You said I wouldn’t like your playlist But, my dear, I love your songs How could I not Our choices are so similar But every word, every tune, is like they are wrought in my tears, my heart's blood How songs disappear How tears end all wars Troubles in the garden and the roses bleed love Here lies my heart all bruised and dark Here lies my heart all silent in prayer Now & forever yours

After You Left (This is dedicated to Carl) Your face is fading from my memory Your form Dispersing In the cold winter night In the condensations on the grass that look like teardrops And my vision is blurred Fin

The Kiss You can move mountains, they say If only you ask with love I found it true when my Softest touch moved your reluctance away And I saw the sun rise Though before I was blind And its warmth pierced my heart In million rays, in million ways I felt it burn, I cried out “Gloria in excelsis Deo” Every kiss tells a story Ours was the beginning

The Vigil I have waited many nights like this Through the dissident thunders and winds running wild Through raindrops trickling from the broken windows I have waited in my vigilant silence So dark your visage yet tranquil as smoggy mornings I have spent many nights trying to discern their silhouette Against the many shades of grey my vision had painted In the bleak canvas of nature’s blasphemous hawking I fear her call, the insist

Renunciation My beloved didn’t answer my prayer I tried all my usual tricks I dried my tears at his feet I covered my head in my shame and walked away Finally understood what it is to lose, to a pretty face An uncaring smile and those ravishing eyes Snuffed out my soft ambers’ austere plea My beloved didn’t look back

It is necessary to see death It is necessary to see death, stark naked, lurid and wild, Death as it pisses in the dark alleyways drunk and ecstatic on the jumps of drugs that are hard to name and harder to pronounce, it is still necessary to see death face to face. In a breach of society sanctioned lucidity hardwired in our brain, It is still very necessary to see death, To see the violent vandalism of civilization, Of ashes and nuclear death of atoms and atom bombs, Bi

Adoration By Tears So long it has been since I have touched those soft lashes of delicate yield So long it has been since I kissed those smooth curves of apple So long it has been since I glorified those abyss of passion, dark and deep So long it has been since I adorned your transcendent frame, your mask of deceit .

Mon Cher - Salutation De La Bien-Aimée Forever will be our destination. I will wait for you, On the other side of the river Of memories, of life and yet not of regrets. I will remember our time together As the golden springs long past; A silence that became music which turned still once more, A passionate embrace frozen in time. Then, we will meet again on the other side of the river, And we will resume our dance once more, now and forever.

Good Night, My Sweet He sleeps beneath the blossoming bows of jasmine in this breezy summer night. The call of the flowers fills the hearts of lonely travelers afar. Flowing from vale to vale, its fragrance beckon to the weary legs, Like the sirens who had once enticed the returning Greeks. And as they arrive what do they behold! A solitary bed, Nestled under the Jasmine and Elder grooves, Requiem for a love long lost. Angels sigh in the wind As

Colours of Love Paint the whole city blue and red, In Colours they come and in Colours they fade. My Colourman comes in a haunting snow, Pristine white when everything glow. He comes silently by my broken window, Softly sauntering like a sad old shadow. Glimpses by my broken window pane And lo what he sees, the old me again. Stuck in my bed in perpetual illness, Waiting in line for my turn with patience, Bereft of all but skin and bones, Sadist as always I am a

Nature Silence disconnected, Wrath unleashed. Beneath your playful surface, I fear I sense a dead man, who wants to be alive once more; To feel the passion, the anger, the greed and the lust; All that connects one to life. Silence disconnected, Wrath unleashed. Create a world of meaningful challenges; One, who creates all, hadn’t been true to his soul when he created our world. We need a new world; a world of peace and silence. Silence disconnect

Longing It’s raining so hard up here, like someone has opened a floodgate in Heaven. I miss you, my love. I wish we could just be in bed entwined together, me in you and you in me, You are whispering in my ear while I nuzzle into your neck, Without a care in the world… Just you and me. Why is life so cruel? Why do we have to wait for all the good things in life? Why is that two souls self-realized and reveling in their love, have to wait for mandates of pett

No-Where To Run Tears trickle down those rosy cheeks As I watch by the cold weather outside And the cold feelings of the old heart I betrayed Watching me becoming a prisoner of my own love I cast my net slowly waiting in silence With haunting patience for the catch I await your return.

Untitled Writing about love is like writing about pain; When did it start, how did it progress, did it affect your day to day activities, How did you cope with it, pills, meditation, diet… so on and so forth? Yes, Love has indeed brought a lot of heartache. But, is that all it had to offer? What about the nicer times, the times when we flowed like music, an eternity in peace. That time when in the dead of the night, you came by just to say, “I love you”. The t

My poetry that was previously shared over my blog here at GA, put together at one place for your perusal. Enjoy.

Thank you! I agree, we have some fine poets here.

Yes this makes me sad!

OMFG! ITS HERE! The poet tag is available. Get it at the store.Poetians Activate.

Myr has answered fellow Poetians. "I will look into options when I'm not buried up to my eyeballs in bugs. Myr" So rejoice, we may have victory yet.

I want to say something here. Being whites yourselves, you may not understand the stereotyping of the white people. But, since I am from India, I see stereotyping of a White person or shall I say WASP person in every representation of it in current Indian media. Check out the comedy series "Outsourced" for this. It is overflowing with stereotypes. This is true for every race and social group. To truly understand a social group one must immerse oneself in it completely, what anthropologists call "going native". Rahul Sankritayan, an Indian polymath, a well-tuned Hindi writer, did this over & over. He married, lived together with different women of different culture and geography to learn their culture & language. With Eleven Different Women. He converted his religion each time. That is the commitment that is necessary to be a good writer. In one of my early blog post here, I had mentioned about BodhiManjusha, a collective unconscious or rather an universal library if you please. And I think every artist of every art form accesses it in his or her own way. Again going back to Buddhist theology, there is a Jataka story where it is mentioned to properly appreciate any one art form a consummate knowledge of all the art forms is necessary, which is impossible & thus we are all inferior artists. I think the same applies to human beings, which is an infinitely faceted problem. We all get it wrong one way or the other. That should not stop us. And many artists of many nationalities of many era have asked the same question as Sasha here: "why should a POC define themselves by their skin tone as a major character trait?" I believe they will continue to ask this question many eons even after us. So strive on, my friends.

Everybody uses the "like" differently. I personally reserve it for the one that touches my heart or shows great promise. We should not be judgemental about it. And we should stop this topic here lest some unkind words are exchanged. After all, words have power. I am really interested in knowing what you think about the "poet" tag though. hugs.