To Laurie, Michael, John H, Robert, KatrinaPEACE (a quiet song)The sorrow diedThe blood quiet,Enchanted eveningCuddles a moon-gardenFire flies flicker In a mad dance.look, The flowers Have opened Their hearts.A night of peace Enfolds the universe,a wide nightspecious and soft.Look, There zooms a shooting star.Your days are Still many,You will be Given a sign.Look, A white dove Nestles on the roof Of your house.Even if distant The peace And strange,Remember how Your heart Bloomed in That gentle nightDwell in itlike in a cloudlook, Another white featherFlutters in the night
AFTER THE WAR- 2
(In The Wood. His Story)
...Suddenly her voice faded. The pine trees vanished. Shadows, like grey monsters, crept closer, obscuring her face.
The sky is a black shell which
he is moving within.
The winter sun bleeding
its dying rays
blurring the branches
of the pine trees erasing the merriment of the marigolds and poppies.
His mouth numbed with sand, he wipes the sweat from his brow.
Someone, or something, is laughing at him–
a piercing shriek. Shells whistling.
The jeep blows up.
His friends– torn corpses.
He is pressing his palm
to the wound in Dan’s throat. His clothes are drenched in Dan’s blood. Taste of blood; He is breathing blood; Blood on his
eyes – “Dan!” He screams, “Don’t die!”
Dan is dead – Just like that.
The rage threatening to obliterate his sanity,
nausea choking his throat, a ghastly, helpless sensation;
Obliteration. His mind locks
on the image of death...
Someone touches his hand –
a light pressure.
He turns his head.
Out of his chaos
He looks into her uplifted faintly flushed face Vivid eyes...
Life - Love?
“Yes,” he said.
A light evening breeze
began to stir. The pine trees rustled, sparrows chirping
marigolds and poppies –
They looked at each other;
Tortured. He took her hand.
Silently, they sat, listening to their Dead.
Their eyes follow the winter sun, bleeding its last rays
on the tree tops.July 29, 2012 5:49 PM
CITY SPRING KatrinaYesterday, Sunday, I walked out my front door and Spring came and sat next to meon my front porch.He was not Spring Of my youth. He did not smell of blossoms nor of first fruit. He did not glow and glitter under a cloudless sky. The air he brought with him was not transparent, not clean. Birds did not follow him to nest in my soft maple tree. He put his dusty head on my lap and sighed sadly. He smelled of dry concrete and acid steel. His eyes were glossy reflecting the cold marble of the city.His voice, like a boom box; Shrill and brassy. Pieces of dog-shit stuck to his feet.He apologized about his bad smell, untidy appearance, unpleasant voice – he asked my forgiveness for being ugly.Of course, I would have preferred to sit with him under an olive tree, watch a bright azure sky, breathe fragrance of fields, walk hand in hand with himon the beach, dipping my sore toes in warm sand, smelling the salt-spiced-air, watch with him the sunset over the sea–perhaps, merely look for– shells. I didn't tell him all that. He was so pathetic. I patted his head and told him not to worry. He is Spring, he is welcome– smelly or fragrant,dirty or pure, as long as he is Spring. He wrapped himself around me in a hazy stench of cars fumes and blasting noises, he kept me company for the rest of the day. For a long time I sat with him, reading a book, glancing from time to time at the tiny buds that appeared overnight on the soft-maple-tree. I prayed for one bird to appear. Give me a sign. Welcome spring. A bird did not appear, but the neighbours' dogbarged in, crapped on my yard, smirked at me, yellow teethed,then trotted away. I thought Spring would die of shame... WellPerhaps Another day.
The rest of that evening (Katrina)(A poem from The Rocky Hill. Story (“Give us a kiss) ...The rest of that evening was peaches and cream,Dimmed lights and pink champagnePoisoned with dreams.Grey snails on a blood-red platter,Slippery and slimy as the gutter.Murmurs wafting in the smoke-filled-air;Memories of love lurking everywhere.Shadows - like touches -Words filled with lies and ashes. Hollow shadows grinning wideLike jackals on a starlit night.Time is bewitched.I am glowing, I am flying, butBetween us a wall of fog is lying.I am hateful and my body tears. Flutter of lips in the darkLike the flutter of moths’ wings.From a black man like lavaFrom a dark mountainErupt love songs thatEven God has forgotten... Suddenly:a scorching heat, a whisper,“Are you with me, my love?"and I know, againthe time hascome to partand a stony silencefills my heart.
HE IS IN ME (to Lawrance)He is in meI am hecomfort meembrace me.My chain is too heavyI weep sore in the nighthe is in meI am he.Tears on my cheeksgold becomes dimwhere are his armsTo tuck me under his wings?Mourning dancefallen crownthe punishmentof his absence –Sorrow for me.Where are you now?Connect with me!He is in meI am hesolitaryI call forhim,come! Embrace me.
SUDDENLY YOUTH VANISHED (Reunion with 10 people I grew up with) Suddenly youth vanished, as if it never was and we were not entirely sure if it was bad or worse. Fragments of its memories were with us all along but when we met we weren't clearif we could bring it home. We argued, showing dim recall, escaping lack of choice that comes with absent confidence and lack of a knowing voice. We were exuberant, accusing; we uttered bitter words, but even so we didn't know what or whom to hate. We were enraged, we were upset, unravelling each word yet nothing could have changed the fact that we remained alone. Our parents died and those who live are vanishing each day.The children died a little death. The grown-ups did not care.
HAGAR IN THE DESERT(From the collection ballads of a land)A single tear stung her eye, In the day‘s draining desert heat,In the chilling and cold, silent night -In her lonelinessIn her wandering;Hagar walked and walked, Walked and wailed,She yelled to the moonshot stars,She cried to the desolate sun - Hagar spoke to her unseen God,And to the boy, Born of her body, As tears washed down and fellInto dry, aged and comforting earth –And she softly floated down, Resting, with outstretched armsUp toward unseen Heavens, While, Ishmael, her son,Slept at her side.
Some of my poems
Loving Lady Ilana Haley:When'some of your poems'your poems are so sumptuous, I just wonder,if you start catering your entire profound poetic feast, I should literally miss my meals for days together.Hats of to Loving Lady Ilana Haley! VARAPRASAD NVLNemail:firstname.lastname@example.org
Dearest Master VThank you for the comment. It isn’t very clear, however. I left you a comment on the awful thread. Why are you still bothering with them I will never understand. It seems to me you are speaking in two different languages. Why do you fight with this Cook? He is a terrible person, and Bonnie, you know like I do that she is a control freak, writing stupid poem non stop and boring all the poets to death. Where are you going? To Europe? I thought you are ill? I wrote you a long letter, it seems to me you didn’t receive it. My book is almost finished 150 poems 10 painting. It is going to the publisher at the end of this month, also 2 novels. Write to me. here is a poem for you:Without a sky And I stood nude without stars without a sky, to burn memories in the eternal mitre of time, without breath without eyes in the traces of the universe... Remember, I am always your friendLoveIlana