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]

© Pranabendra Sarma, 2021

Connect with me in twitter @pranabsarma2020

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-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]

© Pranabendra Sarma, 2021

Connect with me in twitter @pranabsarma2020

From Vault of Memories Past

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

Introduction

Thirty six years back, on a hot summer night I left my home and boarded a train to my alma mater in Varanasi, India on my way to a land and future unknown. With lots of dream in my eyes and a nearly empty pocket, with a passport and visa on hand, I left the comfort of a secure job for an uncertain future.

That I will write something, that too poetry, was furthest from my mind on that day. Fast forward thirty years, I was writing poems, had a blog going and before I knew it six years have passed. However I was restless. I just couldn’t sit still for hours on and keep on writing. So my poems were short, some really short. I was even afraid to attempt to write short stories. Then the pandemic happened and the world turned on its head. Who thought that people would be stuck in their homes for months with nowhere to go, basically grounded by a microscopic virus.

Through all the sufferings and loss, people coped with the situation in their own way. At the end of November of 2020, I sat down to attempt writing a long poem with a consistent theme. I kept at it for nearly four weeks, writing atleast a stanza every day. The result was a poem in six parts with fifty three stanzas and nearly five thousand five hundred words with a prologue and an epilogue.

Now came the hard part. I was sure that this long poem would need editing before being published. Editing was not my forte. So first I requested my daughter, who had a knack for writing, to read and edit the poem, but when I discussed with her the theme of the poem she refused. Maybe she felt that I lost my nuts. I then approached my eldest son to review and edit. After much hemming and hawing, he did few stanzas and then he stopped. There it languished for more than six months till I decided today to post it in parts, couple of stanzas every week on Fridays for next few weeks.

So, here it is. I start with the prologue and from next Friday will start with the first two stanzas of part I. Appreciate my readers constructive criticism.

Prologue

The voice was mellifluous;
The magic was still there;
Maybe age had softened it a little;
A little tired, little sad,
But the first “Hello, Love”,
Lit the fiery passion in my heart,
A fire that was kept well hidden,
Dormant for so long;
Blood rushed to my head,
I wanted to shout with joy,
Words rushing choked my throat,
Wanted to hug her hard,
And smother her with warm kisses,
But before I could say a word,
The voice from the past
Whispered in my ears,
Love of mine, keeper of my
Heart and soul,
Did you guard my youth well;
Because today I have come
To ask it back,
To recreate the magic of eons ago,
When on a meadow far away
As the sun set, and
Under a moonlit sky,
Inhibitions were shed,
Lust vanquished,
Passion calmed,
Love reigned,
I gave myself to you,
Carried you in me always,
A flower blossomed,
And we became one.
[December 17, 2020]

© Pranabendra Sarma 2021

Original Sin and the Forbidden Fruit

Thy thin waist, the
Twin crescent moons,
In those curves
I dive,
Douse my love, and
Emerge purified;
The puritans, the believers,
Paint it as lust.


Those who look for beauty,
Only in merging with
The one unseen,
Blind are they to nature’s gifts, and
Brush it as the original sin.


Let them search
For the fountain of
Everlasting peace in heaven,
One never seen,
I have found mine
In my imagination,
And is blessed,
By the forbidden fruit.

Wildflower

Patches of lush green grasses adorned with wildflowers been growing steadily by the roadside that I normally take for walking my dog in the morning. Lawns in the neighborhood are immaculately manicured.  However during the stay-at-home, no one seems to be bothered by the steadily growing patch of grass.  Some places it is near knee high.  Everyday during my walk I am blessed with blooming wildflowers hidden between the grass.  A few adventurous ones have poked their heads above the ground.  They are just beautiful.  I happened to photograph one today morning.  Google lens identified it as Salsify / Tragopogon porrifolius, a plant cultivated for its ornamental flowers and edible root. It also grows wildly in many places.  Normally I would take a photo and share it with my social groups and that’s pretty much the end of the story. However after I took this photo today morning, the sheer beauty of the flower and perhaps the morning sunlight bathing the patch of wildflowers was constantly urging me to write something.  So here it is.  

Spare me your touch, the
Roving eyes,
Lust in your heart;
Banish the thought of
Picking me up,

Continue reading “Wildflower”

Not a letter of Love

They took out their pens
And wrote on her body
Not a letter of love
But of lust
Her fragrance subdued
By flowing stinks of liquor
Her cries of pain muffled
By their lecherous jeers
Brains on their loins
They devastated a budding life
And when their inebriated selves
Left in search for their next conquest
Her shame her only companion
In a world where man will be man
And the powerful will rise
In righteous indignation to defend
Good names of the perpetrators
Victim she is not, asked for it
Others will say with a smirk
As if a rose bud
Resplendent in all of nature’s glory
Has the power to prevent one
From plucking her out of the tree
The letter of lust is for her to keep
In perpetual indignity

O thou pure of heart

No sin was committed
In the garden of Eden
What was pure
And natural
Was forever cursed
Banished from the garden
Carrying the blame of lust
O thou pure of heart
How thee lusted
In thy heart
For the forbidden fruit
And blamed the serpent
Letting God go scott free
One who created all
Must have created
Love and passion
And lust
The day
Darkness of our hearts
Clouded the sunshine
Of our minds
World became a
Dreary place to live
In our fear blemished life
We all have pains
that we carry unseen
Passing time
Fading memories
Lessen heartaches not
Blessed are those
With life a clean slate
Unburdened by the curse
They carry their secrets to
Their graves

Visit from the Autocorrect Ghost

Idea for this post came while commenting on a post from Ritu (butismileanyway). I read her post in bed and sent my comment.  As I was getting out from bed, I panicked.  Did the ghost of autocorrect took over my comment.  What a disaster that would be.

Rest assured I was texting
Not sexting
Enjoying the lush read Continue reading “Visit from the Autocorrect Ghost”

Door closed for the last time

‘The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,’ —W.B. Yeats

The door closed for the last time
The old occupant had left
No light will be shining today
The hushed voices, furtive exchanges
Business transacted in darkness
Comings and goings at odd hours
Night owls were they
All will cease momentarily
Resistance was futile
Free will broken and subdued
Tears ran dry long ago
Scant cover of modesty
Snatched and thrown away
Colorful dresses just an allure
Before being routinely disrobed
First time the door slammed shut
Rainbow had vanished
Somewhere over the roof
Sky hidden by darkness
No rainbows shined today
Under cover of the whitesheet
Closed eyes could not see
Tears  running down from the sky
Perhaps appropriately
Last journey under a
Canopy of dark clouds
A life lived hiding
Behind closed doors
Dim lights unable to lift
Perpetual veil of darkness
Left that all behind
On a starless night
None left to weep
Behind closed doors, mourners
Busy selling their wares
They have to survive
Till their call comes
Somewhere a new occupant
Being prepared
To satisfy animal lust
The door will open soon
For innocence to be lost forever


This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s A Month (November) with Yeats Challenge day Seventeen