Bleed

Standard

I bleed from the bruises,

unseen dribble and drifts,

shaping the speckles slowly,

mar not the mirror of my memory

but the sponge of my character

– so soaked and heavy ….

 

I reflect on my fragrant past

like a baby lulled in maternal arms,

with a settled heart and a poultice of warmth,

swathing the cuts, salving my missing shards

I shed when I feel my heart….

 

I found myself in labyrinth of time,

and you find this host riddled by parasites

seeds of mephitic moments ooze of rage,

silently changing, slightly every time,

as every encounter conjures a fresh decline

do you see such saline conduct of my appetite?

 

…….degrading?

 

 

©Written Frames, 2018

How strange it is that I hardly hold any memory to reflect upon if it is not the memory with happy faces….

And how strange it is that I think of such memories with a heavy heart which is nothing but a by-product of emotions that bad moments had planted in my behavior all along….

Ruins of Love

Standard

flailing in the wind are my threadbare clothes

susurrating remains of love are imbibed by the sun

washed and bleached, I flutter free of your thoughts

 

faded red fabric and fainting scent of a white rose

clutch at the waistline, the fingers wither to bones (one by one)

flailing in the wind are my threadbare clothes

 

dying moisture in eyes is remainder of remorse

sweet tooth is tamed, of raisins and that wine had won

washed and bleached, I flutter free of your thoughts

 

lice of memories pierce the ache of this shredding host

gouge the garment, spill of their syrups and scent as undone

flailing in the wind are my threadbare clothes

 

the froth of promises & oaths, fading with stagnant cold

still sunsets bemoan the threads, as strayed with windswept spun

washed and bleached, I flutter free of your thoughts

 

yet, dark clouds of mockery might burst open to drench and emboss,

my tatters scorched, when avalanche of death has begun

flailing in the wind are my threadbare clothes

washed and bleached, I flutter free of your thoughts

 

©Written Frames, 2018

P.S. This is my first attempt at writing Villanelle and I totally enjoyed adapting to its intricate structure. I am one unorganized, undisciplined soul who is inclined to write free verses – raw and natural, however, with this one I absolutely surrendered to the beauty of such poetic form and learning it to add yet an another experience to this artistic venture we are on…..

Hope you enjoy it!

Nostalgia

Standard

a ramshackle bench and a river ahead

reminiscent of joints, soon would creak

an epilogue to the frequented visits, worn and wearing

a windswept accordion skirt, against the rusty knees

a strife, yet so unfaltering,,,,,,,,,

 

see her height arched, doth rest unpleated

a breath engulfed in shadow of autumn trees

a prism of solitude splitting threads

spin a spool, ripping from the mesh of memories

look through, with a clock ticking,,,,,,,,

 

rising effervescence, an outburst of abiding rivers

reviving the reflections that settle beneath

gripped and held with fervid vapors, bequeathed

of the air inhaled is the breath exhaled

of yesterday, tending today’s feast,,,,,,,,

 

©Written Frames, 2018

 

This poem is a tribute to ‘today’ from my life of tomorrow, remembering it all. This poem is a reason I give to myself why everyday has to count…..

For now and forever, making memories to live and celebrate …..

 

 

Love stays

Standard

we lose beloveds but never the love

repressed it lies quite, perhaps lying latent

beneath the coat of dubiety and complaints

burgeoning misunderstanding and priority fades

accused of carelessness, hearts are betrayed

 

we lose lovers but the love stays

in sparkle of night skies, we see when alone

the petrichor to amplify your lover’s cologne

wind whispers the tales of hair brushed aside

echo of the gone-green, forest fire ignites

 

we lose lovers but the love does sigh

well-being of seeds from wilted plant of love

memory of spring reveals to the Sun of dusk

epistles of affection plead to their rising eyes

tribute to love, follow morrow’s sunrise

 

it speaks of my heart

the Sun is forever between us to confide

I wish you love, be loved and smile ….

 

 

©Written Frames, 2018

Prints

Standard

graffiti of time, so layered with grime

lost is her luster, accustomed eyes’ crime

 

scatter some white, the powder on her rind

cloak of cellophane tape to wrap and bind

 

stiff is the nude, her transparency chastised

scrape off, such scarred impressions she hide

 

testimony of love, lust and of dying stars

fingerprints of lost lovers, the skin so marred

 

embossed in such doleful memoir is her skin

the recital of handprints she was cradled in

 

gather the latent, dust off these remains

off memory, off complaint, so free of stains

 

weep, weep, let her weep all she needs

scrub it off, wipe it off, score her skin till it bleeds

 

behold her blank wall, o the artists enthralled

an exotic art awaits her to cherish and own

 

she deserves

 

© Written Frames, 2018

Image Source: Pinterest

 

Between life and death

Standard

wellsprings of oceans sprout

drenching me, tempting me

of philtre that spins

perfumes my skin of you

 

sheathe me in your swirls

patchwork of waters against my chest

seeps into mold of a heart so pearlescent

you swim in my depths

 

not a wading bird to peck

you veneered and glistened of sun rays

capsize me, take me within your folds

to kiss a kiss a hundred times

before my second go

 

shall dive into your depths

drown not, but float

my nascent gills befriend the breath

Love, yet a life between life and death

 

You all witness the rebirth of us as love is born between us … …

 

© Written Frames, 2018