Friday, June 11, 2010

Of Pomegranates and other Regrets

I couldn’t see
Through the gates
But no one’s free
And no one waits

Wounded eyes
Speak of dreams
Songs arise
From severed limbs

The temple door
Loss and gain
The distant shore
Shines again

My lips are cold
My skies are red
My heart’s of gold
But it is dead

Skeletons moan
All alone
And the telephone
Has nothing to own

Circling through
This strange trapeze
The cactus grew
In holy breeze

I see your eyes
Distant, Greek
With voices, lies
And words to speak

This new skin
In lantern-haze
Folds within
The phantom-gaze

Icy-dusk
Reaching out
Wear the mask
For poisons sprout

Distant bells
They strike me hard
But a ship with sails
Is just a bird


There’s a name
In the wall
So feel the flame
Before you fall

I built this hall,
This funeral song
Where lizards crawl
And long to belong

The king’s behind,
The rook, ahead
The ancient mind
Has lost its thread


The nights are blue
With fog and rust
You are true
And I am dust

3 comments:

Arse Poetica. said...

Eitaa angsty-ness. Aagergulo besh bhaalo. Tobe ekhon toh muse peye gechhish ;)

Aruni RC said...

dust to dust, ashes to ashes...
very evocative imagery!

Navdeep Sihra said...

Good Work, Boy!
I have bookmarked your blog. Or is there any other way I can follow your blog??

coincidently,We have so many common interests!