JESS

Just when I thought ,

That this was the end;

After tireless searches,

My heart wouldn't mend,

Out of the blue ,

Did Providence send,

Someone receptive,

Of the words that I wrote,

Just before my faith,

Almost fell off the bend,

On life's bizarre twist of the road,

Heavy were my shoulders,

With the burdensome load,

When life had become a game of chess,

With me running out of the options to guess,

And finally reaching a point in time,

Where I lay helpless to whatever came by,

The only feeling was my heart's compress,

Losing out on my writing;

Rhythm and rhyme,

As if it no longer soothed my pain;

Fit for another place and time,

Suddenly, did my senses regain,

As I found the link in the chain,

I realized now that all was not lost,

My poetry meant something,

To someone,at last,

Now,I am alive,

And no longer dead,

My poetry,still,

Appreciated and read,

Far behind me,now,

I left all that mess,

As,ahead of me,

Standing, was Jess,

MYSIGHT;NOT EYESIGHT

THE LASHES OF YOUR EYES

I love the way your eyelashes look,

Like the five-petaled blue blooms ,

That grow by the brook,


And I see in those eyes the depth,

As if ,the whole universe and beyond,

Snugly,in your eyes is kept,


In those dark waters,

It is a dive,

That I have taken,

Even though I know,

That your love ,you have on a platter,

And mine,my God,

For some reason, has forsaken,


And I have tried so hard,

To find the start of your gaze,

But every time I plunge inside,

I come to a stop,

In a blinding haze,


A lonely wanderer,I am,

A fool,too,perhaps,

With my non conformist ways,

Who tries to find something,

Even when blind,

And stuck in a maze,

MY THING OF BEAUTY

Where is that thing of beauty? ;

the one that's a joy forever,

I have searched, but in vain,

and gathered no joy,

just endless pain,

Love,for me, is the Devil's ploy forever,

It's loveliness does increase,

but my feelings pass into nothingness,

I can feel but not hold it;never,

No dreams for me;

just nightmares that follow,

The world so big,

but my life so hollow,

Poor health and no quiet breathing;

in damnation is my soul wreathing,

A snake that binds me to my delusion,

That what I see is real;

and what she sees,an illusion,

The snake is wreathing,

around me on every morrow,

The days and nights with nothing;

just darkness creeping, 

with me in sorrow,

I try and try to no avail;

No happiness can I get,

or even borrow,

OF PENANCE

With each and every strike of the whip,

I get into a trance so poignant and deep,

That I feel much bliss just after the pain,

And wish my senses to never regain,

DEATH BEFORE DYING (DEATH ERE DYING)

Death is the  truth I seek,

Life,a figment of my mind,

I walk towards my grave,

And I leave all behind,

Everything will perish,

Except the words that are mine,

And I will greet death's angel,

With a really big smile,

And thank him if he arrives,

Way ahead of time,

I am a human,with one life,

Not a cat that has nine,

But,as long as I die before dying,

Even one is fine,

Yes,I will feel the agony,

As my soul is taken out,

But so will every human,

That has ever romped about,

The pain will be a torture,

That I will have to bear,

And cry out in submission,

With each and every tear,

But no matter how painful,

I will be eventually done,

As my soul reaches my Maker;

I fear that only One,

I will pay for what I did,

And things that I hadn't done,

Until,in my repentance,

Sins remaining are none,

Death is the truth i seek,

Life,a figment of mine own mind,

I walketh towards mine own grave,

And I leaveth all behind,

Everything shall perish,

Except the words yond art mine,

And I shall greet death's angel,

With a very much big smileth,

And thank him if 't be true he arrives,

Way ahead of time,

I am a human,with one life,

Not a gib yond hast nine,

But,as long as I kicketh the bucket ere dying,

Coequal one is fine,

Aye,I shall feeleth the agony,

As mine own soul is taken out,

But so shall every human,

Yond hast ev'r romp'd about,

The teen shall beest a torture,

Yond I shall has't to bear,

And caterwauling out in submission,

With each and every tear,

But nay matter how

I shall beest eventually done,

As mine own soul reaches mine own Maker;

I fear yond only One,

I shall payeth f'r what I didst,

And things yond I hadn't done,

Until,in mine own repentance,

Sins remaining art none,

LAZY LASS

Wake up,you lazy lass,

Sleeping and dreaming,

About green meadows,

And sparkling springs,

And all other things,

Such as dew drops,

On shaky leaves,

When the cool mist,

Blows with the wind,

From the nearby beaches,

Of the emerald seas,

Your feet,wet and green,

As you romp about,

Barefoot,on the morning grass,

And the wild flowers,swaying,

With clucking chickens,

Free from the day's quota,

Of organic egg laying,

Your heart jumps with joy,

Excited as a child,

Free from school,

With his chums,playing.

TWO DECADES OF SEPARATION

Humour of Intelligent Design,

Someone up there better resign,

For creating this situation on earth,

Where, tampered with was the timing of birth,



Unfair,was this trick of fate,

When time ensured that,

Either I be born two decades early,

Or,you, two decades late,

THE YELLOW AND RED ROSE

My feelings are mixed about this day,

I give you a rose,both yellow and red,

Red for the love that I never got,

Yellow,the shroud on my friendship,dead,

No other colour can represent the hue,

Of the connection that I know to be true,

My love and your friendship,

We just could not find,

Yellow or red were never seen;

Our vision,my dear,was colour blind,

All we saw were shades of grey,

I let my feelings hold their sway,

And you kept yours held at bay,

Trudging along this misty shore,

With me wanted less and you wanted more,

Doomed was this path seldom trudged before,

Lost in my writing,was my love,evermore,

MY RAPTURED HEART

In love,my heart was raptured,

My soul,intoxicat'd with passion,

Attribut'd to even that,

Which wasn't given, but captured,

No heart is happy when taken,

Many more  hearts will come,

God is endless in giving,

No better reason f'r living,

Somewhere,out in the distance,

Waiting f'r you is one,

Blinded,you are in passion;

You may not see it now,

But have faith in what you believe,

Do it as you know how,

But remember one thing,though,

The purest form of love,

Is the heart that is manifested,

With the heart that doesn't know,

That love does not follow status,

Neither it follows age,

'r the physical beauty,

N'r is it dependent,

On the lover's wage,

Love is giving in nature,

Like a flower in a gale;

It bows down to emotions,

Without a sound in pain,

Soft as the softest silk,

The feelings blossom in autumn,

No matter how deep the hurt,

Love will rise up from the bottom,

Past feelings ,composed,

Straight from their grave,

So precious to me, even now,

That their resting place in the ground,

 I so wistfully crave,

These  feelings, oh,God,

Had you not created,

You would have saved me the torment,

For countless words that I stated,

 

And prevented the misery of others,

Who spent their life towards this goal,

In a  path that was bendless,

Towards a love that they believed was endless,

MEA MEMORIAS,MEUM TRAGOEDIIS

Betrayal attribut'd to one,

When the w'rk of fate is done,

W'rds misund'rstood by you,

The feelings und'rstood were none,

Too much milk has spilled,

Usually a time to cry,

Clean up almost impossible;

All one can do is try,

I put an eff'rt in ev'ry thought,

Some w're duly c'rrected,

With all the resources that I had,

Or those that w're carefully brought,

I failed mis'rably, but fought,

To gath'r what I sought,

My heart and head in conflict,

To what my actions wrought,

Holding the cup,I had a slip,

Except that th're was no brew,

With nothing to fall,

There was no drip;

But,of course,being me,

I lost my grip,

And let the cup fall,

Broken f'r ev'r,

Nev'r resurrected;

Just cov'r'd by a pall,

So,I suppose I have to wait f'r et'rnal hell,

Aft'r the t'rture;that is, of wh're I dwell,

Th're's nothing else that I can tell,

Except,as always,I wish you well,

Betrayal attribut'd to one,

At which hour the w'rk of fate is done,

W'rds misund'rstood by thee,

The feelings und'rstood w're none,

Too much milketh hast spilled,

Usually a timeth to caterwauling,

Crisp up almost impossible;

All one can doth is tryeth,

I putteth an eff'rt in ev'ry bethought,

Some w're duly c'rrected,

With all the resources yond i hadst,

Or those yond w're carefully hath brought,

I did fail mis'rably, but combated,

To gath'r what i did seek,

Mine own heart and headeth in conflict,

To what mine own actions wrought,

Holding the cuppeth,i hadst a slipeth,

Except yond th're wast nay brew,

With nothing to falleth,

Th're wast nay dripeth;

But,of course,being me,

I hath lost mine own gripeth,

And alloweth the cuppeth falleth,

Broken f'r ev'r,

Nev'r resurrected;

Just cov'r'd by a pall,

So,i supposeth i has't to waiteth f'r et'rnal hell,

Aft'r the t'rture;that is, of wh're i dwelleth,

Th're's nothing else yond i can bid,

Except,as at each moment,i wisheth thee well,