A Lover's Complaint
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
# # Am Not Just A Drop [in Top 500]
born from a spring
from mother earth's womb
an adventurous child hood and teen
in a waterfall
in that whole lot a few drops will
perish or stagnate
a romantic trip in its youth
as a stream or river
A Teen Aged Widow
When the morning star,
Sees first sun ray,
And disappears,
In grief and distress,
Gives a parting kiss,
To the nude lady,
Who takes her bath,
Every early morning,
In the sea of fire,
And once again,
******world War Iii!
First world war
Resulted 40 million causalities
1914 to 1918
Died men women children teen.
World war II
Lost lives damaged resources too
‘The Axis’ versus ‘The allies’
70 million killed, no lies.
1939 to 1945
The Scholar-Gipsy
Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes!
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,
Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head.
But when the fields are still,
And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest,
And only the white sheep are sometimes seen
Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanch'd green.
Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest!
The Guitar Of Light
It seems someone has cast a dark net
And the town has become a trout caught in that net;
It seems no morning has ever approached here, -
The town has sub-merged in an over-flowing darkness.
The town seems to be an island of fairy tale.
It seems someones, like giants, are snatching away
The ornament from a teen girl's forehead
And then devouring her bone-marrow with rapture.
A Bird Without A Nest
You came in my life,
When I was a teen,
A girl with a dream,
A girlwitha heart,
Always at war with my mind,
On many issues-
Be it a boy girl thing
Or a gifted ear ring,
That was the moment
I fought to run out of clutches,
The Host, He Says That All Is Well
He didn't want to do it with skill,
He'd had enough of skill. If he never saw
Another villanelle, it would be too soon;
And the same went for sonnets. If it had been
Hard work learning to rime, it would be much
Harder learning not to. The time came
He had to ask himself, what did he want?
What did he want when he began
That idiot fiddling with the sounds of things.
I Lived Not
I lived not up to expectations
Thus raised distrust and many questions,
Had promised to keep words,
In the name of God and also Lords,
Promise is simple but after all promise,
To be observed till approach of demise,
Never to forget any and not to compromise,
Not to break any just to sprang surprise,
Leaflets From My Life - The Story Of Red Bird
When I was little,
My mother charmed me with delightful stories.
She knew I was enchanted by fairy tales.
And I would sit up with rapt attention
Listening to her
And hugging her!
My Mother, a fair lady with a royal countenance,
Long shapely eyes like lotus petals,
As envisaged in the Indian Miniature paintings.
I would just watch her twinkling eyes with wonder!
Nomophobia.
Mobile phone has
enslaved us almost
all times of the day.
Our one hand remains curled
even before the first sun ray.
We look into it
every now and then.
Whether moving alone
or in the midst of men.
Most of our daily chores
La Priere De Nostre Dame
A.
Almighty and all-merciable Queen,
To whom all this world fleeth for succour,
To have release of sin, of sorrow, of teen!
Glorious Virgin! of all flowers flow'r,
To thee I flee, confounded in errour!
Help and relieve, almighty debonair,
Have mercy of my perilous languour!
Vanquish'd me hath my cruel adversair.
Angels And Demons (To Kurt Cobain) From Book: Angeles Rebeldes Y Demonios Extranjeros
I wonder what compelled you to take the Dutch act?
An O.D. on number three, thirteen or eight?
A suicidal soul gets no access to heaven, yet it's intact.
How come you really blew it by the kiss of death?
Even if sound travels slower than light,
Music can deeply penetrate into the galaxy.
SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT will put down the eternal night.
What kind of jury found us guilty of heterodoxy?
I don't subscribe to the view that demons write a tune:
They're knee-deep in own humdrum infernal chores.
Laus Veneris
Asleep or waking is it? for her neck,
Kissed over close, wears yet a purple speck
Wherein the pained blood falters and goes out;
Soft, and stung softly — fairer for a fleck.
But though my lips shut sucking on the place,
There is no vein at work upon her face;
Her eyelids are so peaceable, no doubt
Deep sleep has warmed her blood through all its ways.
The Ballad Of Dead Ladies
Tell me now in what hidden way is
Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
Where's Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
Neither of them the fairer woman?
Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
Only heard on river and mere--
She whose beauty was more than human?--
But where are the snows of yester-year?
Where's Heloise, the learned nun,
Knocking In Silence
Portrait of my teen days,
Reminiscences of youth,
Image of holiness in her
Youth of my longing heart,
Achievements of my soul
Nozzle of my flawless emotions,
Kite of my passionate being
Are all embedded into one, that is you.
Mother
From the first breath
as a little child,
all i have ever known
has been you
mother.
From the first sound,
as a syllable,
all of it,
spoken
The Betrothed
"You must choose between me and your cigar."
-- BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.
Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.
An Innocent Love Affair
I watched a movie of Suraiya when I was a child,
Suraiya was an Indian popular star,
She exposed her tunes like a guitar,
An appealing beauty making every one wild.
One of my uncles friendly asked me,
Asked a child only ten years old,
But very talkative, and too much bold,
Did you like Suraiya, how is she?
From The Cuckoo And The Nightingale
I
The God of Love-'ah, benedicite!'
How mighty and how great a Lord is he!
For he of low hearts can make high, of high
He can make low, and unto death bring nigh;
And hard-hearts he can make them kind and free.
II