Category Archives: Poetry

I rise form lengthened moments’ bindings
where duty’s penance scolds me.
I rise to grapple pleasure’s windings
and pay with peace of mind for thee…
for thee, my pen, who counts as friend
my blotter’s adept taming,
who from your harshest scrawling rends
the truth without a shaming
pool of India’s shade.

Our subtle struggle finds it mark
between the rush of blood and haste,
that bends the quill to matters dark
imbibing in the frozen taste
that surety tinged with pallor,
that turned the wine from blood,
that wrote to claim heroic valor
of the throngs of dead left in the flood,
and there we acquiesce in trade.

O! Angels come to save this heart!
O! Come to turn this page!
Kindly cast a blessing’s start
that steals the sweetness from the rage
that slaves between the pen and pulp
suspended twixt my mind and hand!
O! Push the pride of pen to gulp
the essence of this dream so grand!
Please guide the wounded hidden proof!

At last the peace resounds in song.
At last the echo finds its mates.
Cut across the injured page
in long and sweetest strokes it states,
“Herein my soul in truth belongs
to what a moment’s freedom gains,
that passion for the perfect song
is sealed in treaty’s loving stains
and partnership of truth,
that from the wetted pen stems youth
and from the blotter age!”

A note beyond the alto’s range,
a secret passed but not the same
as what was so intended.
A thermal carrying eagles high
but falters short to bring them nigh
of what their souls expected.

A river flowing though the thaw
beneath the ice that holds its call
from ever being heard.
A sparrow dreaming of the flight
that brings his spirit to such heights,
yet such denied the bird.

These are the dreams I dream within
my captive spot and holding den,
and in such tease me more –
And so I watch from eyes that plead
to go beyond just what I need
before I reach that fateful shore –

A daisy on a mountain grown
amidst the granite so in sewn
and denied the earth to flourish there.
A salmon on her way to home
upon a rock by fate so strewn
and so denied her purposed care.

A full moon glimpsed behind the cloud,
so to the night is left in shroud,
so fails a night of love.
A heavy cloud without the rain
denies the summer’s parched hot plain
so presses heavy from above.

A hope, a glimpse beyond the now
that shines a light upon the “how”
a life anew might rise again.
A truth, that when it’s laid to rest
releases what is second best,
yet denies the strength to win.

It is these things I see in life
that paint the hope within the strife,
that hold the hands just out of reach,
that paint the colours through a bleach
of what is wanted most.

A hope, a dream, maybe a ghost –
or just what’s meant to be –
I pray to live enough to see…