Where dreams come to die

‘We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead; ‘ —W.B. Yeats ‘

 

Beware all ye who tread this road
Myriads traversed this path long before

This path is paved by their bones

Turn around, turn around
Before your dreams crush to dust

Swept under the swirling sands of history

Cries to feeble for those who follow to hear

Sordid stories of the powerful and the mighty

Spinning webs of fortune and glory

Fools following their calls of perceived glitter

Paid the ultimate price, this path doth litter
With their unfulfilled dreams

Ghosts of the tyrants and marauders of the past

False messiahs and society’s vainglorious leaders
With pretentious messages cast long shadows

Ruination only reward for those who follow

Does it matter who go first, dreams or dreamers

Blind followers’ dreams will lie shattered

Those who are left behind
Sheltered observers, detached all

Would rue the lessons of history not learnt
From the safe cocoons of their warm hearths
Wonder why no one heard their call

Beware ye all,

This road is the one chosen
Of all those dreamers
Who left behind their cry
Listen ye all, listen well
This road is the one

Where dreams come to die

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

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Nearing Journey’s End

‘…your hair was bound and wound

About the stars and moon and sun:’—W.B. Yeats

Many a miles we traveled together

Sunshine and starry nights as guide

Dark clouds and moonless nights

We stumbled but always had each other

Words superfluous, we were bound by love

Words not spoken we could clearly hear

Now at journey’s end, we have no fear

Even with eyes closed, faith will guide us there

Even if we can not hear each other

Looking into each other’s eyes, we can decipher

When our sights will fail us, gentle touch will suffice

Even if unforseen calamities do happen

Pathway to our hearts will remain open

And when all our senses fail, my dear

We will know time to say goodbye is near

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

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

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

She did not come to steal my heart

‘Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?’—W.B. Yeats

The doe eyed beauty looked up and my heart melt

She walked daintily as if not to leave any mark, full of grace

Nature endowed her with all the beauty, she looked resplendent

A graceful curvaceous body  adorned by a beautiful face

My heart aching to reach out to her but I was afraid

She stole my heart as I looked at her hazel eyes

A red rose from the garden an appropriate gift, I surmised

Thanks I was not expecting but her acceptance  be my prize

Called out to her softly, asked her to wait

My heart beating, gently I went to pluck a rose

Surprised she darted changing her gait

As I saw my devastated garden, my heart froze

Did not wait for my rose, she did not come to steal my heart

After her voracious appetite, my rose garden will need a fresh start

©Pranab2017

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

 

 

Bell tolls for all

‘You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.’ —W.B. Yeats

Battlefields were gone long ago, bones turned to dust
Thousands perished here feeding conquerors’ power lust

They were young once, full of ambitions and dreams
Life cut short in distant lands amid pain and screams

Call of duty, false pride or manipulated by the powerful
They came in hordes, primed to kill, but dying like fools

Promises unfulfilled, broken hearts’ lonely cries unheard
Silent cries crush the hearts of myriad orphans left behind

Crumpled statues litter the landscape, those who gave the war calls
Take heart lost ones, when the dust settles, the bell tolls for all

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

Standing up to injustice is the only solution

‘That you, in the dim coming times,
May know how my heart went with them
After the red-rose-bordered hem.’ —W.B. Yeats

The roads are littered with gold, they said
Hard work and belief in oneself if one possess
Enough to make a new life, they merrily proclaimed
Come one and come all, we will all progress

El Dorado it was not, didn’t matter to folks
A hard working lot, they not afraid to work
Melting pot of civilizations, they wrote the songs
Built roads to carry produce, beef and pork

New immigrants not like us, they say it’s wrong
Coming in hordes stealing our jobs and bread
Something is rotting in heaven, stench is strong
Skeletons brushed under the rug poking their head

Time to stand up, trouble brewing in the horizon
Standing up to injustice is the only solution

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

 

 

My mistress, till death do us part

Away, come away:

Empty your heart of its mortal dream.’ – W.B.Yeats

Seducing me at every step

From the moment of grand entrance

Alluring mistress are you

Promising to keep me company

Till death do us part

I fell into your trap many a times

Weak of mind in moments such

Seduction irresistible to come away with you

Dreams of afterlife, mysterious unknown beckoned

How must you be disappointed with my betrayal

But my sensuous mistress you did know

I have promised myself to someone else

To life, with all the sufferings and pain

I have promised my heart and soul

And when the time comes, as promised

I will leave this body to you

Till death do us part

My mistress

You are no mystery to me

I embrace you with open arms

Death, my eternal mistress

Let me go away on my terms

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