From Vault of Memories Past – (Continued)

[I wrote this poem over a span of one month. As the poem is long , I shall post it in parts every Friday. It’s a poem about love but some may find the content semi-erotic. Lest their finer senses be disturbed, be aware and proceed at your own risk.]

Link to the previous part :

Part II

How does one write about one’s own heart?
A feeling that lies buried deep inside,
Carried to every part of one’s being,
A constant reminder of being alone, but not,
A dull ache that throbs,

A painful reminder of what could have been
and now never would be,
Memories that would be carried

for the remainder of the life,
Memories that cut deep and slowly bleed pain,
drip, drip, drip,
Freeze the moment and stop time,

exhilaration and it heals.[9]

The moment from eons ago
when we first embraced,
My fingers stroking your lustrous hair,
A wave a satiny black cascading to infinity,
Darker than the darkest night,

Like the darkness from the abyss of a bottomless ocean,
Sweet fragrance of jasmine

wafting in the air from the wavy darkness, and
lost in the depth of those dark waves,

My fingers touched
the graceful arc of a swan’s neck
and I found heaven.

[November 29, 2020]

Pulsating veins in a neck
gently bent backwards
as my fingers traced up,
A beautiful song in the making,
Quivering rosy lips parting softly,
Hint of a pearly whites necklace
showing the tip of a rosy tongue,
As I softly touched those inviting lips
with the tip of my index finger,

A soft moan ensued
and the most beautiful pair of eyes
that I had ever seen,
Opened slowly and looked into my eyes;
And I sank
In the deepest mystery

of those bottomless eyes;
Rendered senseless.

Thin eyebrows arched like a bow
framed a smooth halfmoon forehead
glistening in the afternoon sunlight
filtering through the leaves,
Unwrinkled smoothness that
unable to contain
the beads of pearls of rising passion,
let it flow over the bridge
of the slightly upturned nose,
perfectly angled;
And as it dropped ever so slowly
from the tip of the nose to
moisten a pair of thirsty lips, I gasped;
No salt of passion ever tasted so sweet
to the waiting lips of a thirsty lover.

[November 30, 2020]

© Pranabendra Sarma, 2021

Connect with me in twitter @pranabsarma2020

Author: pranabaxom

Poetry is my passion. I am not a methodical writer. I have no set topics to write about. What I feel, perceive, think about, I will like to share in this blog. I open my mind to the world. Like the weather, sometimes my poems are cloudy, sometimes stormy. I always like to see sunshine streaming through the leaves of trees, so I hope I can share some of those sunshine with my readers.

19 thoughts on “From Vault of Memories Past – (Continued)”

  1. First two stanzas are truly gorgeous! In the second two, I’d look carefully at your word choices. To my ear, there are too many rosys, pearlys and tips. I’d look for something more original. Cliché takes us away from the personal and passionate to the generic.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I just meant that rosy and lips, pearly and teeth are like Siamese twins. If you mean lip-coloured, it’s not obligatory to use rosy, and if you mean teeth-coloured you don’t have to use pearly.
        Be creative. The choice of adjective helps set the mood by association. Depends what you want mentioning the lips to convey. So the adjective have to be a simple colour. Something like ‘midnight rose’ suggests a colour but also something deep and mysterious. Bruised plums suggests a colour and pain, abuse, brutality.
        I’ve been trying to get rid of repeated words in the ms I’m revising, even words like her or he if there are too many too close together. You have the word ‘tips’ several times. Try to only use it once.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. My pleasure. I’m pleased to pass on what I think, but I have no more qualifications than you do to know what’s best. I’m just applying prose editorial advice to poetry. Seems sensible.
        IMHO too many poets try to be too arty for their own good. They don’t even bother to learn how sentence structure works never mind language, and they don’t accept that words have meanings and meanings aren’t optional.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Thank you so much Jane.
        I don’t claim to be a poet but do agree that I don’t like structure. That’s one reason I stay away from poetry with strict rules though you got me hooked into Ghazals.
        Still write a few from time to time.


      4. Not every poet likes form. But I do think it’s like all art forms. Before you start discarding the rules you have to show that it’s an artistic choice, not just because you haven’t ever mastered them.
        I do get irritated when people write poetry with a rhyme and can’t hear that their rhymes aren’t. Or that the lines don’t scan. We ought to be able to hear, surely?

        Liked by 1 person

      5. Sure, we ought to hear rhymes. Even in chaos there is melody. However I do believe that trying to fit in hinders creativity. That’s my personal belief. Choice of words matters though. Words vibrate and sing. I like to get feedbacks because I think everyone’s hearing is unique to oneself.


      6. I’m undecided about whether writing formal poetry cramps creativity. I often read poems that are supposed to be in an iambic rhythm but the poet has just counted syllables rather than beats so the lines are unbalanced. It’s easy to correct the sound by changing a word, taking out a word or changing the word order.We accept that songs have to follow a rhythm and would hear if the the lines didn’t scan. The writer who can’t do that, personally, I don’t think has the ear of a poet.

        Liked by 1 person

      7. Of course you are! I think we have to push ourselves to work at poems sometimes. It’s too easy to say, oh, it’s free verse, oh, I know what it means, oh, I know that word doesn’t make sense but that’s the point—you don’t know what it means either. Discipline, young man.

        Liked by 1 person

      8. ‘Young man’? Haven’t heard that in ages😂. Must show it to my betterhalf.
        I must say it’s a struggle to be disciplined once the words crash the dam and start to flow. I try to be, stay away from writing for sometime but it feels like slowly choking myself to death.


      9. Ha ha! I remember my sister coming to stay with me once in Paris, came back from the boulangerie looking as though she was going to burst into tears. “He called me Madame! Do I look that old?”
        You write what’s close to your heart exactly how you want to. It’s just good to exercise your skills on formal poetry from time to time. Like doing piano practice 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      10. That’s why I try to write Ghazals from time to time.
        Piano practice? Never learnt to play.
        There is a saying in my mother tongue Axomiya (Assamese): old song bird won’t sing a new tune.


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