Life – Fleeting Muse

Taking Stock

This road that lies ahead I had traversed,
Many a times through the ages alone,
Uninvited I come and will leave unannounced,
With memories erased of lives bygone.

I have sailed down this river again and again,
Navigating blind, downstream to ports unknown,
Many a port of call I crossed and stopped in vain,
Alas, the erased memories of yore had let me down.

The path was never paved smooth nor was it sleek,
The road bumpy at times and full of potholes,
Thrill of the journey unknown, adventurous and never bleak,
Continuous cycle of coming and going in the company of eternal souls.

Oh what a fantastic sailing on this ever flowing river called life,
Full of potentials, cyclones and whirlpools, sail without fear and thrive.

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 : https://wp.me/p73yZZ-4lM

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.[10]

[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.[11]

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.[12]

[November 30, 2020]

Connect with me in twitter @pranabsarma2020

From Vault of Memories Past – (Continued)

Link to the previous part : https://wp.me/p73yZZ-4lw

Part I (continued)

Please come near.
Age has robbed my vision;
It is not as clear.
You say it does not matter,
You promise to speak,
If I keep my eyes shut
And let my
Feelings speak.[5]

My hands cupped in yours,
Lilting voice I
Waited so long to hear.
Lovingly you spoke.
“Keep your eyes closed, my dear, and
Feel me with your imagination,
Fill my heart with tender words,
Words of passion, not of lust,
Words that a life-time will last.” [6]

Touch me, my love, with your feelings
From head to toe,
And whisper those words of love
In my ear.
Let your imagination sculpt
A picture of my youth,
I shall always carry with me.
Let the passion flow
And let us flow
In the torrents of love.
Vagaries of time may be cruel,
But we shall have enough,
To last a lifetime and more.[7]

Don’t hold back my dear,
I have felt your touch before;
The rousing passion,
Love mingled with lust,
The explorations and the discoveries,
All inhibitions shredded,
All these years I have carried you
Inside me.
Today, let me hear in your words,
Strip me bare,
And let me feel myself,
In your words,
Let me quench my thirst.[8]

[November 25, 2020]

Connect with me in twitter @pranabsarma2020

From Vault of Memories Past – (Continued)

Link to the previous part : https://wp.me/p73yZZ-4lh

Part I

You came!
It’s been ages since you left,
And all I could do was wonder,
What went wrong?
Spent days and night,
Seeking an answer,
What took you so long?[1]

Time has left its mark,
My cataract eyes unfocused,
Let me get my glasses,
Let me get an eyeful,
And ascertain,
The image that I have,
Is the same.[2]

What, forget my glasses,
Keep my eyes shut?
Then let me feel you,
The way I felt you,
An eon ago,
On that sun-lit meadow,
Under the trees.[3]

Let me touch your lips,
Does it still quiver,
And speak without speaking,
The meanings of
Your unspoken words,
Rushing through my veins,
Radiating warmth
During nights of
The coldest moon.[4]

[November 25, 2020]

Life and Death

Sunset,
Crimson is the sky,
Twilight creeps,
Dusk crawls across,
Darkness.

Death,
Is it so,
As life ebbs,
Will darkness crawl?
Oblivion.

Dawn,
Fingers of light shoot,
Gently rises the sun,
Dawn rushes in,
Blazing.

Soul,
Free of the body,
Floats free,
Unknown beckons,
Peace?

Day,
A new beginning,
Chaos reigns supreme,
Busy for what?
Clueless.

Life,
A series of steps,
Mundane and exhilarating,
Exhausted, long wait,
Ends.

Questions Futile

Life is like a flowing river;
Are you life, I asked the river;
The river did not stop
To answer,
It just kept flowing;
My dejected sigh
Failed to ruffle the surface
Of the stagnated pool,
Tadpoles scurrying merrily;
Retorted the frog,
On your way, move;
The crest of the wave
Caught the sunlight,
Twinkled;
Got your answer, it said,
And was gone;
The flowing river marched on,
Carrying the caricature of
My broken reflection,
To a place unknown.

and my futile question remained unanswered.

Fantasy

what is life,
if not colored by a little fantasy?
I shall rather fly away
on the wings of my imagination,
than wither slowly by
dripping sands of time.
is there anything more painful,
than dying by grinding of the mundane?
let them ridicule me,
for my feet not being grounded;
will the bean counters ever comprehend,
ecstasy of riding the winged horses,
and flying away?

The Hourglass

The most profound ideas of the day come to mind in the toilet because they are worthy of being flushed out of the system at the earliest.

Why does the sands of time
drips so slowly, and then
the hourglass turns?
Why can’t time remain at
standstill as we mourn
the scores that departed
to the unknown shores?
do you hear the blood curdling
howls of the hyenas circling,
to rip the coffins before
the bodies are cold?
the vampires do not dread
the light anymore,
ready to suck the blood
as life goes out.
as we mourn, somewhere else
a life mortgaged to luxuries
while living, slowly ebbs,
and street dogs stand in
guard of honour
for the one who has no home.
the sands of time drips ever so slowly,
and the hourglass turns,
as we mourn.

featured image from pixabay

Moonbeams’ walk

Wrote this poem today morning and then translated to my mother tongue Assamese (Axomiya). Posting them in the same sequence here.

Have you seen
the moonbeams walk?
sometimes they
light your paths,
sometimes they
cast shadows,
sometimes they fill
your heart with joy,
sometimes they make
it bleed raw,
sometimes they get lost
in the glitter of city lights.
but when the moonbeams
walk into your heart,
keep it safe,
because on the darkest night
of your life,
you will need the moonbeams
to navigate,
and light your path
with fireflies.

জোনাকৰ খোজ

দেখিছানে কেতিয়াবা
জোনাকে তোমাৰ লগত
কৰা বিচৰণ?
কেতিয়াবা আলোকিত
কৰি তোমাৰ পথ,
কেতিয়াবা ছাঁয়াৰ বোলেৰে
আকে পট,
কেতিয়াবা আনন্দৰে
উজলাই হিয়া,
কেতিয়াবা হৃদয় কৰে
বিষাদে ভৰা,
আৰু কেতিয়াবা জোনাক
হেৰাই যায় চহৰৰ
ৰঙচঙীয়া সন্ধিয়াত।
কিন্তু কেতিয়াবা জোনাক
যদি সোমাই তোমাৰ অন্তৰত,
সাঁচি থবা আলফুলকৈ,
জীৱনৰ ঘনঘোৰ
অন্ধকাৰ দিনটোত,
উজলাব তোমাৰ পথ,
জোনাকী পৰুৱা হৈ।

We survive

burdened with the
thoughts of mundane,
mind can not perceive
what lies in front,
eyes see garbage
where roses bloom.
alas, such are the
ways of life
we need to do,
to survive.
we dream,
and then see
them shattered,
the heart bleeds,
while the eyes
run dry.
we survive.
we survive,
at what cost?