Paradoxes, Poetry and Pandemonium.

[sneb]

Poem : noon brilliance

Noon brilliance is steeped deep into morning ash,
her waking up lit the wild garden.
All of the fresh flowers being put to light
in brightness a smile her eyelash glowed.
The noon is high in the empty sky
with soft past lent to travelling clouds;
The grand dazzle sticks, I see, to all things of beauty,
gradually awakened, I see in fire, my fresh Rondeau.​

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : you're my chaos

You are a disaster and I am the after-storm,
I always follow your kiss, as we destroy,
I wrap you in my chaos so that we stay inseparable.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : some other time

Some other time you will not sleep;
The radiant floodlight boring into you
and memories flood back in haranguing pathways,
the poles will be nightlife and paparazzi shall be your dress,
reflected across the wall, in measures known to the eyelash.

Your vision is crafty my love, but the distance is made out
in pieces of star-sugar and wrought in glitter.
Some other time, your insomnia will be a tale
told to foreign fairies that will have made bed right before you kiss,
and for what it matters, the reservoir of sweetest of honey,
the resplendent beam baking my eyes into wonder,
will bring my heart to a lovely new world, alive. ​

 

[sneb]

Poem : sadness on the canvas

The sadness in words is not the sound they wear
but the taste on parched lips they leave.
I am not a musician about to let harmony pervade,
I am a homeless painter
with an angry brush
about to make the canvas bleed.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : rise, love

You could rise, like smoke
fresh from the last kiss
of glass-struck lips,
you could alight from salt beds
of the ocean gripping my thighs;
as the moon burns melting high
over convulsing midnight waves,
you crash from the gargantuan galaxy,
spread out your blazing trails across-
my parched lips,
make love with little salt rivers
and stretch out along the retreating ocean
on my lips,
and then would you rise again
like the smoke, fresh from love.​

 

[sneb]

I like your oblique gaze
and how it falls like silence.

softly and widened
inwards and loud
I like how you bore
into me, quietened
and sudden you
melt again into me.

I like your shaken
self and how
it blames like autumn
into all of me
finding cold and shiver
it hugs me from within.

I like your brows
touch my temple,
your chap stick clad
lips, push mine in
falling into me,
how you become
me, from within.

 

[sneb]

"Faith", he smirked and looked around and shot back, "Such an overused word."
His hands twirled pebbles and puffs of dust swarmed like a hive around his knuckles barely inches over the floor.
It was soon going to be evening, and sun-down. There was a shadow on his moustache and I could see a strange light in his eyes that was fighting nostalgia and sullen feel in the evening air.
Against the crashing of the waves, I could clearly find my reverence for this dying old man.
"Do not fight for faith, my lad. I did that and I am still doing. Even on my death bed."
I felt his voice crack all of a sudden like the low flickering flame.
"But, grandpa", my lips formed shapes to deny the inevitable that he seemed to mention.
"Son, in the end, faith will be all that you have felt, your past, your memories, will stay with you. Faith gives hope. But that is all there is. Hope can help you stretch that inch, on your run. But beyond that inch, you will still be lumbering at the finish line."
"But then, how do we pound away, how do we persevere ? Grandpa, if not for faith, how do we keep at it?", my eyes were boring into his flickering eyes, those aged, wise ones staring back like a bolt of lightning, at me. Given his state, I was surprised at the power that those orbs were penetrating me with.
He arched forward, sat up straight, and held my shoulders with his aged hands, and a crack of smile formed at the age of his lips.
He smiled as if the warmth of this world all filling me up like a thousand lifetimes all poured in my childish heart, "Belief, my son, will. Believe in yourself, not your destiny. Destiny is is just a scratchpad that we scribble when we have failed our races. Believe in biology and see your attempts bear fruit.".
With these words, he arched backwards and laid against the headrest, his palms still warm and holding my shoulders in them, as he closed his eyes, the smile still lingering and silently, swiftly, softly bode farewell to this world. ​

 

[sneb]

Poem : let me help you

Let me help you my love.

Like my unshaken faculty
move my mind within your
kissing distance.

Like my treaded walks,
bring your soul home here
before my kitchen.

Cook you everyday,
and string your soul here,
into beads of excited hormones.

Make you, bed and tuck in
lay your tired flesh to slumber
riling up the dancing feet again.

Like my notions that are backwards,
sing you poetry, bring you closer,
let the flames melt us into each other.

Like my undone works, cherish
your shortened ways, my uncooked supper,
tongue still arouses everyday.​

 

[BlackCaramelCreme]

"Faith", he smirked and looked around and shot back, "Such an overused word."
His hands twirled pebbles and puffs of dust swarmed like a hive around his knuckles barely inches over the floor.
It was soon going to be evening, and sun-down. There was a shadow on his moustache and I could see a strange light in his eyes that was fighting nostalgia and sullen feel in the evening air.
Against the crashing of the waves, I could clearly find my reverence for this dying old man.
"Do not fight for faith, my lad. I did that and I am still doing. Even on my death bed."
I felt his voice crack all of a sudden like the low flickering flame.
"But, grandpa", my lips formed shapes to deny the inevitable that he seemed to mention.
"Son, in the end, faith will be all that you have felt, your past, your memories, will stay with you. Faith gives hope. But that is all there is. Hope can help you stretch that inch, on your run. But beyond that inch, you will still be lumbering at the finish line."
"But then, how do we pound away, how do we persevere ? Grandpa, if not for faith, how do we keep at it?", my eyes were boring into his flickering eyes, those aged, wise ones staring back like a bolt of lightning, at me. Given his state, I was surprised at the power that those orbs were penetrating me with.
He arched forward, sat up straight, and held my shoulders with his aged hands, and a crack of smile formed at the age of his lips.
He smiled as if the warmth of this world all filling me up like a thousand lifetimes all poured in my childish heart, "Belief, my son, will. Believe in yourself, not your destiny. Destiny is is just a scratchpad that we scribble when we have failed our races. Believe in biology and see your attempts bear fruit.".
With these words, he arched backwards and laid against the headrest, his palms still warm and holding my shoulders in them, as he closed his eyes, the smile still lingering and silently, swiftly, softly bode farewell to this world. ​

This was/is beautiful and heartfelt.

 

[sneb]

This was/is beautiful and heartfelt.

Thanks BCC.
Stay well, happy and smiling.

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : break through the fence

Once in a while we run the risk of losing who we are deep down in a bid to be who we wanted to be a while ago and never got to be. I do not put a lid on your dreams, here, but then there is always a fence in your brain, constructed by your introspection from which I pull you not. But you run the risk of hurting yourself onto those barbs when it is raining above and you are not yet free. It is a beautiful thought to dream and continue, but those are the wings that betray you when the winds are down and your sails are not the finest.

Fences hold you inside and you fight, then you break free or cower in. Fences make you tell the truth or they turn you into some caged monster that is vying to lay waste over palaces and cathedrals, and houses! Fences turn you strong or break your spirit. Fences burst your dreams or they help you launch like a rocket to the moon. I sound stupid, but the thing about dreams is that they are like the evening sun, low light and flicker until either it is a glorious evening or a scary night.

Once in a while, we are held captive in our own hearts, monsters we once grew in lust, tying us down,
Once in a while we put up a fight and we fall to them, our weapons louder and wiser,
Once in a while we dance to some dulcet tunes and yet waltz onto the stage.

Having said this, once in a long while, we find ourselves on the other side of the fence,
and our journey through the fence is one falling star hell of a story
worth all the ink;
This makes all the pain and all the failures worthwhile.
This makes all the breakage worth hurting.

Once in a while, still, the plan is to walk beyond the breaking dream
and to fall into a pit, however dark.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : you made me

I was on my common own
until the time you came by;
As you made me, I fell,
as I came to be, you shone.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : raw

Her rawness was sheer magic,
and the incompleteness, haunting.
Failures of hers, intoxicating,
I never felt much complete, feeling
Her breakage, Binding and the hold
breathtaking. I have been a wreck before,
but the other evening, her harshness
was endearing, enlivening and heart-moving.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : festival of her

It was the festival of light,
pulled out of her heart.
Not one sound betrayed the chorus;
Lights here and lights there,
it was a season of rejoice
pulled out of her eyes.
Not one eye blinked,
it was the festival of her.​

 

[sneb]

Her eyes have been married to silence,
and have unraveled the universe
in their own beautifully broken way.
Her eyes have been married to silence
​

 

[sneb]

Paradox : beliefs

They came with their reasons,
and I with mine.
We fought our beliefs so strong,
we left the place with our own gods.
​

 

[sneb]

Poem : not you, dear

I did not think, my pain could color your soul in such manner.

After the way you set off like midnight fireworks
I found my heart all in smoke and burnt,
I am not sure, if there's love again.​

 

[sneb]

I have faint recollections of you.

You were the last dregs of delight
the last threads of scents
before the bees left you for the night.​

 

[sneb]

Poem : in darkness and alone.

All your falsity needs is a quiet flame.

In such times
I let it intoxicate me
till I forget the runs of the day.

I forget the meanings
the words and their synonyms
the sounds and how they end.

The little glow by the floor
that seems to cast my world
by the wood of my cot.

I wait for the shadow to melt into the wall
hoping just like my hopes
to vanish beyond my unwashed wine glasses.

My eyelashes pretend to run after the dying shadow
to catch them before the signing stops and my heart
slips into the deepest slumber ever called cold.​

 

[BlackCaramelCreme]

*Swoons as I'm reading these*

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : They will come for us, We knew.

We knew they would come for us
in the heathen belly darken with shrill cries.

But we did not run, nor hide,
we stood at the gates and laid us
across the cold barren metal.

The flaming tombs glared from behind us,
they that day shook the enemy's hearts,
and told them an answer
that has kept them far out into the dark
away from our little world.

 

[sneb]

Dabble in your mighty choices for they mean different story lines.
Each adventure suffocates a different warrior,
because the princess is in his mind
he sleeps with a smile that begins to bleed
by the time it becomes a morning and what remains are more of his choices.

 

[sneb]

Poetry : Following the flame, dance for the love, passion


Follows the flame,
her hips, they curl
before my flagship;
A ship, a raging sea
she twirls, she trembles,
beyond the melt
I dip into her choices,
widespread and inviting
the lifeboats and the vices
merge into each other
I into her, she 'round me,
follows the flames,
the dance and the burn
the sounds break barriers,
her teeth sink into me.

 

[sneb]

Poetry : Ride


Colors ride our hips as the legs climb my thighs,
with my mid-rift, the flattened land slips between yours,
by the knowledge so truthfully found,
I sift your cloth into curtains and conquer all in-between.

 

[sneb]

Pandemonium : The end of us


Being taught to only whisper
everytime we raise our voices
it feels like shouting.

Our definition is that of hideous inhabitants
as civilizations scramble over each other
to stay within an earshot of solar events.

As they declare us to be alone,
the world plunges into desolation.

Tiny eyes, widened eyes,
blue and gray eyes, and black eyes,
starved eyes, lonely eyes,
all peer through misty windows,
waiting for everything to end.

They feel comfort in their sheets
their warmth is the kitchen burner
and the music is that of the howling.

They stay inside, waiting the apocalypse inside,
waiting it out, mankind hides in a corner,
the proverbial bush, in a larger
thicket, we learn to squat, play, eat and sleep
in the same place, with time as we call it home.

Eventually our little nook is everything to us
and we forget what it is like outside.
And forget how to explore and wander.

Death of mankind is by our fear
and everything we do as frightened.
the destruction is in our mind
the end of us is in our concepts.