November, when fields are tinged with both right and wrong

When the night comes, they gather and speak as one
longing to touch
and feel with fingertips cold
as though to emphasize a point–
they fling the moon as an orange peel
savagely
into the fields every now and then.

Did the sourwood blush just now?
Did the wind just break in through the window?
I dare not wake, not lift my lashes lest I become a slave
to their rhythm,
their moans are gunfire that play on repeat.

There is something about the words that form
in the line of my mouth,
caffeinated tears that flow like November guilt,
these creatures come unbidden
silently admiring your language, your length and form.

I hear an incubus frantically pacing outside in the bushes
urging me to give in to lust,
I’ll come unguarded if you promise to destroy me
light my lips
in shades of scarlet and gold
as predictability is drowned by the bubbling of a stream–
keep me enticed
until the early morning, when shadows part and the world’s
bathed in light.
Can you feel the determination in my eyes?
Come now,
admit you are afraid.

 

 

Photo credits: Jolygram

Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United

Posted on ‘Open Link Night’ @ DVerse Pub

October, as leaves fall patiently

It’s a wonderful thought to be had
probably because I said something infantile,
as we wallow in each other
and the coziness of cloudy October days,
while breaking through the ingrained pattern of generations
and deciding what is best for us.

Could it be that this idea of healing is a seed
that has been planted within us?
The kind that takes a long time to gestate
when we seek to challenge the uselessness of systems
and return as chrysanthemums
to the fundamental questions that define our being
in this world–
some won’t understand the metamorphosis
that takes place in us,
as we reason with sensibility, make peace with the past
and the present.

I kiss my way through pain and confusion,
longing for simplicity in times of sophistication–
deep into your waters
there exists a voice that beckons to the rebel inside of me.
I embrace darkened innocence
ignoring the cries of bygone summers that state otherwise,
time has added more dimensions to my being,
taught me
to cherish joy when it’s found.

Caressed by the sun I stare into the end of beginning,
whenever
I am doubtful of the raindrops in my life
and though vulnerability is my strongest pursuit in writing
at times the sky opens up and swallows me whole.
I am the gospel of Autumn as I search for truth that’s present
in the universe
as I feel uncertainty and learn to experience without dread,
it’s all right to let go.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for ‘Kerry’s Challenge’ @ Real Toads

& Posted on ‘Poetry Pantry’ @ Poets United

October is one more yellow leaf as I turn to embrace the end of year

Dark as the night, as clouds that form around what begs to be seen
I am the goddess of sleep and dreams
I am ripples that form in quiet lakes of green
where kisses linger beneath the moon in the backseat
and laughter echoes in the morning,
deny you may but the soul is aware of what the body refuses to admit
it conceals its deepest desires
but in truth indulges as though giving in to the ferocity of cloudburst,
to the redundancy of roses,
every second Samhain I transform along with others
into a swan
feel the end of harvest season drawing to a close
and winter emerge as the somber half of the year, as the world honors
deceased ancestors–
fleeting is time,
its weight balanced upon rock-ribbed, pearl white wings
I am softer sighs made bittersweet by what remains beyond power,
what’s believed to be,
as water wise beckons me to listen and share a few stories.

 

 

Photo credits: Mythical goddesses by Katrina Taule, Pinterest

Posted for Weekend Challenge @ Real Toads

Epistle To My Present Self

Lily of the Incas with kisses begins to glow,
as change
brings blues and golds about,
the sky bearing witness to words that form
on paper.

I find myself curling into a ball
as though yesterday attempting to draw emotions out
the sweet with bitter,
the tame with wild;
I am the wind spiraling in every possible direction.

I want to let go of consternation
as lips
pave the way for questions to engage in,
they visit like the outline of the moon in the froth of cold
moving forth but bashful,
how is it that every time I extend my hand
it flutters
like a chortle sounding from the corridors
of a distant dream?

Years of closed eyelids picturing the perfect pitch,
the world
as we know it is comprised of shadows and lies
and the soul being possessed centers upon
what shines the most–
perhaps maturity means being sensitive to a situation
to how we react,
my mind shivering at the thought as leaves fall
in its wake.

You will find me obedient
as a flame at the end of a lipstick stained cigarette,
let October be as unspoken letters
let me tune in to the song of the seas,
as I give in to transformation
something bluer
than twilight and impossible
to resist.

 

 

Photo credits: AQ Arif Oil Painting, KarachiĀ 

Re-posted on the Poetry Pantry šŸŒ¹

Posted for Moonlight Musings: the interactive edition @ Poets United

Of a world behind the mirror

Poem inspired by the quoted pieces of Rupi Kaur’s poetic masterpiece “Milk and Honey.”

There is no mirror to state the condition of mind
here in this purgatory of sorts,
as darkly I trace the wounds of flesh
inflicted,
part sin and part virtue
as drops of rose fragrance unto me cling.

The moon drips silver
gliding from the once abundant sky
I suppose even she gets tired eternally surrounded
by courtier clouds
what a brutal irony it is that we get to choose the way we perceive
but not feel,
my lips as ever blood red from exhaustion.

At the sound of a horn the gates open themselves
I lie in wait
for amnesty or damnation to claim me
as life in its monochrome musing flashes
before my eyes.
I have loved you as honey knowing not drops lingered
elsewhere too,
let us now settle the score for angels have reckoned that hour
is nearing its close.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Wild Friday #2 @ Poets United

October: In accord with Autumn in bronze and song in heart

Poem inspired by Peter Sarstedt’s lyrical masterpiece, Where do you go to my lovely, 1969

Tonight, the soul is dark and the moon’s awash
with tears
as though aware of what’s stirring inside,
I am shades of sepia intermingled with blithesome and serious.
Fleeting is lust and yet
we continue to chase the desires of flesh,
where do you go to when ocean foam refuses to touch your feet?
When grass seems indifferent?
Where do you go to when droplets are unable to echo your ache?
I see you with your smiles
oblivious to the shredding of coconut husk covering of my heart,
to the quivering of my lips
as I look you in the eye and put on a straight face.
It’s deeper than you think, this abyss of emotion that accompanies
after heartache,
where will you go to when words come out of hiding?
where will you go to when October comes searching for answers?
I am sorry what was it that you said, love?
You’re no longer present in memory but my thoughts distract you.

 

 

Photo credits: Mira Nedyalkova, dark underwater

Posted for Sanaa’s Challenge @ Real Toads

Posted on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United