valsala shan Poems

Eyes beguiling beneath the tiny face of despair…
She roams the streets of the city fair….
To scratch for little strips of food in the alleys of gloom and filth..
In dark lanes of depravity masked in the depression of wealth…..
...

Softly the whispers of the night caress the flesh of my flesh..
Fingers of the dark one play their concerto on this melodious harp…
Stringing the echoes of the memories hidden in the depths of that flash…
Breaths merging as a sonnet intimately meshed in quivers sharp…
...

I shall awake no more.....
The time for my existance has lapsed.....
I hear, see, and feel not his presence near my shore....
He has removed my soul from his stage collapsed...
...

Passion, the forbidden fruit of love....
masked by layers of deception....
shrouded in the mystery of the eyes...
eyes that tell no lies as the tongue speak those lies..
...

In darkness this soul searches for light....
In the still heaviness of the black, foreboding whirlpool of thoughts...
It searches for beams of hope that flicker through with little might...
Darkness that invades this existence...
...

Twisted, mangled, crushed are these thoughts of despair,
Lovely are the thoughts that feed this desolation beyond repair,
What aids these mindless forays into the solitude of no returrn...
No visions of bright lights at the end of this lonely road....
...

She, the one and only she who is there..
She, the stranger who stares back at me from there
She, the woman who is here and yet not there…
Who is she that I see over there, yonder beyond the reflection that stares straight at me?
...

Feel those eyes….watching, consuming….
Feel that breath ….whispering, caressing ….
Feel those lips….…..pressing, lingering...
Feel that touch…touching, stroking.….
...

Slumbers he in total oblivion in the corner of progress…
Clothes, tattered, torn and worn out…
Hanging on to the thin frame of his mess…
Weary and barely there, playing his time out…
...

Tears of blood flowing through these eyes..
Fears of pain coursing through these veins…
Shards of icicles piercing like lies….
Pin-pricks of needles stinging in vain….
...