Skip to main content

Gifts of Servitude

Artwork by Jeanie Tomanek
Courtesy : The Mag

Angelic psalms of care often deprives
The pleasure of waiting for your God,
A noble crime is to forget the divine,
And rest assure in a miraculous drive.

It is sane to wait outside, when ghosts
Of hungry men waits to rape even after
Their lust has broken down into fine dust,
There you cradle your fear and drink
The burning blood that drains through.

Yet with a misplaced anklet that adorned
Her one leg, she swung upon branches,
(An image of love flew for the ghosts to see)
She left herself for the heavens to free.

Measured glances of hope dripped her
Fragile face, she was a daughter, a lover
A mother, a saint and a believer,
She planted herself onto the tree
And sat forever with her bare basket,
For the ghosts and the Gods to see.

Wings of faith were never too large
To lift her off, crowns of thorns
Were never too sharp to keep her down,
A bird which ceased the desire to fly
Now gave her adept company.

No mirrors were born out of the tree,
Which makes me wonder,
Is the bird I see a part of her?
Or are they both a part of something else?

Comments

  1. So much to love about this beautifully written piece, but I really like:


    Wings of faith were never too large
    To lift her off, crowns of thorns
    Were never too sharp to keep her down,

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thought provoking and indeed the last stanza leaves me asking the same

    ReplyDelete
  3. ...we are all part of this life's great mystery... & that the connection we have from each other will serve as a map t'wards tracing that almost invisible pattern of this aging world... smiles... interesting write!

    ReplyDelete
  4. a bird with no desire to fly.. so sad.. loved your imagery here..

    ReplyDelete
  5. Love the idea of the bird being part of her...as if all parts of our inner and outer world suddenly all came out...cool writing!

    ReplyDelete
  6. An image of love flew for the ghosts to see

    Nice idea.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Crown of thorns never too sharp to keep her down...oh that's beautiful...

    ReplyDelete
  8. Measured glances of hope dripped her Fragile face... you have captured her so very beautifully...very well done...you are going go long way boy- Best wishes.
    BTW I have replied to your quire in regard with She, do tell me if it works for you :)

    ReplyDelete
  9. A beautiful poem with thought provoking imagery.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Thanks to all for your kind views. It makes me more confident in a way to keep writing.

    ReplyDelete
  11. Lovely, lovely. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  12. well done indeed.....thanks for sharing

    ReplyDelete
  13. I have to agree with Laurie. The penultimate verse is a real jewel.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Wings of faith were never too largeTo lift her off, crowns of thornsWere never too sharp to keep her down A bird which ceased the desire to fly
    Now gave her adept company. .........i must say ,you are enligtened . ?

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Nataraja | The Lord of Dance

Art : Nataraja by Satheesh Kanna All the reverberations of the world nestled In a tiny speck that glowed bright, Like beads in a necklace, It united with The mighty hands of a violent Lord. The speck, moved along like a Cobra, It wrestled to be released, A space Overpowering, yet calm waited For the Cobra to taste his infinity. The Lord held the flames of wrath on his left hand, He clutched onto it with a rage unmatched, With it all powers shall crumble down, With it all creations shall see annihilation. Umbraged, liberated and fearsome, The speck escaped his hands, Fire Spread all around the Lords' head, For once The speck was here, next it was there. It encircled the Lord in a heavenly tune, The frenzy uplifted the Lord, His hands moved to push the flame, Onto the circling speck. In a flash of ambrosial light and sound, The speck exploded and whizzed all around, The Lord went onto a fury of power, He felt his waist c

A Lost Love

Artwork: Google Images   The calm of morphine kept fading, By little I found the pain brewing, While the untamed heart kept pounding Much like a blanched pigeon Freshly caged. Days were lost in hours of pain, Weeks passed as I couched Sans the strength to speak out, I gave a whisper one day As lightly as a fading song, I asked the doctors about her health. Spells of hallucination always struck, I remained in a hospital bed Looking at the monitor echoing my beats, But a moment after, I am in a car, Racing at knots at the rage of opium. In a moment my life became white, Her hands were clutched onto mine, I looked into her eyes and a paranoia rose, Is it the morphine that flows through me, Or is it the opium that makes me high? The doctors claimed she had died, But then who sat beside me last night? Drops of tears concerned my vision I felt her as real as the flagitious doctors Who raced around me like wild hyenas. A whi

The Partition

I dedicate this poem to all Pakistanis. You are all as much a kin to me as Indians. One of the many images of partition that moved me emotionally. It was also the cover photo of  Yasmin Khan's book, The Great Partition  The second column of Muslims passed, Not a soul in our side had the strength, To shower them with our words; cursed, Along they passed as silent as us, Drifting with the hot and wild wind, That very often burns our face, As we cut through this desert; wretched. O lovely dawn of freedom, while you showered purple and gold, half of us never knew what future held, Singing and dancing beneath the relentless sun, we hugged and kissed the conspirator's arms. The line drawn that sliced Punjab, The surgical tool that dissected Bengal, Never seemed more poignant, Till it ripped us apart from Lahore, And made us to savor this journey. Guided by a false pretense of safety, Moving onto a false notion of liberty, Living on the narrow verg