Please, sir! Please,
let him not slap me
let him not kick me.
Help me, sir,
my hips are broken
my nose is bleeding.
Please, sir! Please,
he’s got my hair
he’s got my neck.
Help me, sir,
I can’t breathe
I can’t move.
Ah! the walls, sir –
they are moving
they can hear me.
Thank you, sir,
I think I’m flying
I feel no pain.
Words find no place in my heart
smashed pumpkins kindle no desire
for poems to breath on my blog
stories of joy and sorrow have forgotten
to appear on my page
I hang on the smoke of vague ideas
hoping to rejuvenate love for a dead man
in folktales to see his ghost
in the ruins of the past
where he avenged the death of his love
to feel heaven in spring
and I am still counting sheep
Thursday Poets Rally Week 35 (December 16-22)
She dreamt of this moment
to stand and amend the past
to free herself from her pain
beholding the caved in roof
door to the past lost to time
windows forever debarred her pain
and a sadness sneaked in
unwept tears of the past flooded
her unexpressed grief
the walls had cracked with her desperation
the unmoving floor had buried her blood
the pillow had shrouded her shame
scores of years she fended her fears
and tended to her essence
the light at the end of the tunnel glowed brighter
His hair swirled around his face
as he summoned the keepers of black magic
calling them to bring storm and hail
down upon the vale at the behest of his mother
where the crops were pregnant with yield
where the cattle grazed in meadows
where the trees in the orchard bent with fruits
where a house was jubilant with newlyweds
that was the time for revenge
that was the moment to inflict pain
to hear the cries of agony
to avenge the poverty his uncle and aunt
thrust upon his family after his father’s death
the hail storm raged down
portraying the fury of nature and of a wronged soul
a satisfying roar from his heart echoed in the vales
but the aftermath of the destruction
took away the evil smirk from his face
filling his heart with remorse uncontrollable
rage-filled heart searched for repentance
for years the master Marpa tested him
made him build three towers
and with the same hands demolish them
meditating and surviving on nettle tea
the sorcerer Mila Thöpaga became Milarepa
a great Buddhist teacher
the first one to attain enlightenment
in one body, in one life time
who calmed a frightened deer
subdued the ferocious dog that chased it
and turned the hunter into a believer
with songs of the wisdom of the world
[Like every religion, I have been fascinated by the religion I was born into, though I am not religious the stories of religion amuse me. This is my first try at writing poems based on religious stories. The story of Milarepa is very close to my childhood like most Bhutanese of my generation and before, because we heard the story around the hearth passed to us in the traditional way, orally. There are many stories surrounding this yogi but the ones I narrated here are the ones I heard and saw enacted.]
This poem is entered for Monday Poetry Potluck at Jingle Poetry and the theme for this week is magic and miracle, wizardry and wonder.
A shrill cry
from here
there
overhead
never ending
pain in the cry
tear-stained cheeks
pleading
nails
claw the walls
to come out
of the shadows
where beauty
burns to ashes
cries drown in the walls
prayers sway with the wind
mercy is unheard of
waiting for a saviour
who never comes
to the blood-stained shadows
while death awaits
ready to pounce for
ever
growing shadows
move in the darkness
drawing blood tears
beating up the spirit
till it snaps under torture
(of rape)
and the namesake
law protectors laugh evil
at their success
of breaking the
spirit of a human
they pledged to protect
forever
they shall remain in shadows
[Started in May, 2010, completed tonight.]
Love
times after
hits you
right at your heart
moments of love
moments of silence
aftermath
moments of masking
last thread
of bond
snaps
with very sharp
painful
sound
echoing
in your heart
tears break free
from your eyes
hurt was never
so hurtful
This poem is entered for Monday Poetry Potluck [29/11/2010] at Jingle Poetry and the theme for this week is Nature: Plants, Creatures and the Cosmos.
The fog sets into the valley
a light drizzle is on *Kanglung
on yellowing leaves
a sign of the setting of summer
rise of autumn
In the distance the birds sing
the song of the approaching season
the song of human lives
the song of my loneliness
and a sign of the approaching woods
I walk the path into the woods
my gateway to solace
the cold wind stings my face
small pearl like droplets
of water in my hair
lose themselves
like I lost myself in life
My nose takes in the familiar
raw smell
of the living woods mixed with dust and
roving smoke from the chimneys of
the village down in the vales
I try to see through the fog
I see the silhouettes
of trees, my companion of years
in happiness and in sorrow
coming into view
Their branches reach forth
to touch me as always
to reassure me of
finer things tomorrow
to brush away
my pain of today
It’s like they know
why I haunt like a spirit among them
I feel no words in my mouth
as tears tighten my throat
choking me
The wind blows
as if to tell me
to cry my heart out
I feel the branches
embrace me
like the arms of a friend
warm and comforting
on a cold evening
as the rain showers down
it drips by the side of my face
I cry rain mingled with tears
The wind howls mad through the
trees at that moment
drowning my sobs
like a friend they are
covering my embarrassment of
having to cry out loud
As I walk homeward I hear the
leaves rustle and the wind
whisper in my ears
to come back again
the branches stroke my face
the wind howls
I understand why
*Kanglung : A place in Bhutan
[I started this poem in 2003 and completed in 2009]
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