A very old, nameless poem

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Artist: Michel Le Roux. Title: Passion & Poesie (Passion and Poetry). Image source: http://www.adelecampbell.com

Note for the readers: This poem is one of my more premature piece, when I was just starting to nurture my passion for poetry and to express subtle thoughts poetically. Keeping this in mind, readers please consider any flaws or looseness in structure, form, imagery and metaphors. I have tried to better these aspects with time, with writing more, and moreover, with reading more and more of the works of great poets of all times.

From dawn to dusk’s inevitable abode
Habitual ramblings of my pedestrian soul,
Faceless structures intrude the journey.
Sometimes, a drop or two of wild desire oozes out.
Many a times a game of chess between passion and pain
Quivers the floor of sensibilities.

From the strained womb of eternity
Emerges each day, a new-born day,
And it seems, as if in its sparkling splendor
The darkness of the bygone days
Is a thing–not to utter, or even remember.
But then, every now and then,
My pigeon lusts are choked by its barren sterility…

And I being the sterile land that it renders
Shell myself in stony suppression.
And miles away do I leave the tumultuous sea of throbbing pulsation.

Your enormous nights and my awakened soul become
Far-off strangers, long departed.
The scarlet flame of your kiss falls headlong.

And now, those forsaken dreams will form a new cosmos,
Those have been fed with despaired blood and forbidden sweat.
Your milky dreams will lick my blood-red sighs
Lick the forsaken salt of my sweat,
To form a new heaven, with your past and captive kisses…
With an abysmal thirst that never fades out.
Come, will you, to explore it all?

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Silent Partners: Fleshless Solitude

 

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‘Solitude’. Picture courtesy: battlefield.wikia.com

 

Note for the readers: This is a poem I had written nearly 14 years back, with a young, unrestrained mind. Fresh from the University, my head was brimming with poetic lines, and the emotions were delicate, honest, but raw, unbridled and devoid of precision. I remember I had put a lot of long elipses, periods and also long hyphens in between the lines, and looking at them now, I thought them awkward and odd. With a little bit of editing, this is what the poem looks like in its present state. 

 

Midnight and myself, two silent partners speaking to each other,
Clutching at each other in sensuous extremity.

One says another: “How do we speak out, each time, in silent warmth?” 

The other hisses, ”In keen memory, we have stored our silences like mistresses! 
We adore them in shady depths of secrecy.

They never ask for 

Lucid exclusiveness of speech.” 

A knock on the door, Secrets enter. undress quietly before the mirror 

Of time, or…infinitude…

The skull contains them all,
Love lost in crooked, restless flight
Flesh and bone struggling with myths of light.
The inner and outer storms migrated to suppression,

In the “living” without “life”!

And now, they fill the room with voices and presence, 
None can see, nor hear at all.

With wordless mouths, then, let us plunge into unspeakable depths
Never explored by spoken truths, or spoken impostures.
Let us write, with inkless pens, the wordless history 
Of strained breasts and crisped fingers: 

Midnight and Myself,
Two silent partners will carry 
Secret breaths and unspoken histories 
To the fleshless depths of solitude.

Silence, we have the key to unlock thy gates,
Now, let us plunge into thee.