A Voice From the Past

Across the ruins of moth-eaten days,
Nights crawling with silver bookworms,
A voice whispers,
Unlocking cobwebbed recesses of my mind,
Misted memories of sun-drenched days,
And relentless nights,
Imprisoned with scraps of dreams long dead,
Brown stained pages of words unread.

The voice strains to be heard,
Through the shields of silence, self-imposed,
Rippling the placid canvas of my life,
Till the demons of rememberance,
Unshackled, unforgotten, unburied,
Rise to the surface yet again.

The voice demands to be heard,
It implores, cajoles, tears out from within,
The flotsam and jetsam of a lifetime,
The naked contents of a tortured heart,
Faded words fettered in yellowing pages,
A heart which is no longer mine to give,
Words I can no longer bring to my lips.

Shaken, in the deep of night, I turn,
To a torn page and a leaking pen,
My blue-stained fingers strive to resurrect,
This cross I am destined to bear,
In careworn cliches, mutilated metaphors,
Absurd alliterations, a shelter I seek.

Poetry stirs the soul, moves the heart,
But beyond the cliches, it is above all,
The last refuge of the coward.

Bliss

oh no, what have I done?
the peg toppled and now the liquor's staining it.
oh my poor poor fabric suit!!!
I can't believe it.
can you?
oh the last night was a success. Bliss it was.
let me tell you a secret.
I love irritating her.
I love the look when she broke the circle.
it fragmentated and oh! I love it so much.
I love it as it licks my hand.
I love it when it sucks her inside.
and love it when it vanishes like
a handful sprinkle of darkness.
I can't believe it.
can you?
Now, refilling the peg, sitting alone
I can see the petals.
they are falling in a steady flow
their smell reminding me of... of the liquor!
they are falling upon the candle lit.
oh how that burning smell will irritate her!
I can see it.

Sky At Night

I lie sleepless and watch the sky at night
A darkness, isolated spots of light
A blackness profound yet insignificant
Against the silver glory magnificent
Sometimes the fiery redness of bright Mars
Sometimes the silent breathing of the stars
Sometimes the pale elegance of the moon
A touching sight, a truly blessed boon
Consciousness all those distant bodies shows
Subconsciousness towards them takes us close
The eternal silence of open space
The void of mystic beauty and of grace
Of hope for the next day, a promise given
Then the sun conceals God's blissful Heaven