Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)

Mora Piya Ghar Aaya (My Beloved Has Returned Home)

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Autumn:

the leaves fell, as you left, a bleak chill wafting across the barren space within my being,
you left, taking your smile and mine,

my smile rests with you still, leaving a void impossible to fill.

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Winter:

pangs of longing consumed me, my only company in the frigid nights,
my tears remain frozen, within,

unable to fall from my broken eyes, as I searched the depths of the cold, harsh skies.

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Spring:

birds returned home, though you did not, and I felt soothing rebirth all around,
memories of you began blazing, their embers stoked,

and at last the tears rolled, like ink on this blank notebook, my whole being pined for you, my very self in anguish silently shook.

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Summer:

alive I felt again, the promise of the coming cooling rain, easing the heat of desire,
yet the furnace slowly raged inside, your absence tearing into me, shattering my nights, my longing for you soaring unfettered across the skies,

dancing on clouds, blissfully free,

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Monsoons:

heaven itself opened, the deluge an unending dream,
rain falling all around, mingling with my flowing tears,

and then I saw you, you returned, and I embraced you, never wishing to let you go,

and though I may wear the mask of the clown,

if you were to leave again,

my very soul, would quietly slip away, and in the monsoon rains, I would gratefully drown.

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scribblerofverses@gmail.com

Port of Call – a re-post of one of Scribbler’s favourite scribbles

Port of Call

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Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

with the breath of the ocean a caressing balm,

soothing pained memories away,

to the swaying of a solitary palm.

…

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

feeling the brushing away of all past turmoil,

on a quest for solace,

ever so hard to find,

yet comforted by the crashing of the waves,

as the tide cleanses all pain,

and leaves despair far, far behind.

…

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

drenched in a sea-breeze of mist,

that hushes the ache of bygone moons,

tasting the salty tang on my lips,

as the burnished sun,

over the distant horizon,
swoons,

and dips.

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Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

searching, ever searching,

for a slice of solitude,

as memory bids a final adieu,

reaching under the sea so vast,

and seeking comfort in the depths,

while embracing,

the tomorrows to come,

wishing that they be true.

…

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

seeing my truths drown,

as they slip beneath the turquoise waters,

feeling my heart ablaze,

with a passion that rarely falters.

…

Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

yet knowing that I am home at long last,

wishing the waves would wash away,

the defences that once stood,

like an impregnable wall.

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Barefoot on a talcum beach,

alone, not lonely,

I have found, at long last,

my final port of call.

Distant African Nights

Distant African Nights.

1.

The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,

a cool breeze teasing your bare back,

streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,

as my hands stroked your hair,

kissing your soft mouth,

holding you, ever so tight.

2.

You whispered that you loved me, and I kept silent,

the rain fell, the shadows danced, the thunder rolled, the breeze teased your naked back,

you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,

the rain washed over our tender nights,

lightning and candlelight etching poems on your burnished skin,

yet a fear gnawed at me, deep within.

3.

We parted ways, and you could never forgive me, you said,

now, after numberless thunderstorms,

the rain that falls,

are the countless tears that I have shed.

4.

You are long gone, far away and happy, I pray,

yet the memories persist,

those precious moments shall never, ever trickle away,

and I wish you well, for loving me as you did,

it was I who was not worthy,

then,

it is I who is not worthy now,

for you were always true,

it was I who always, always,

never allowed myself,

to give myself, completely to you.

Aching to Ache

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Clawing into myself,
digging, scraping, scratching a phantom itch.

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Amputating feelings, thoughts, emotions,

love,

always excising love,

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to feel some pain,
for once, to feel the ache, the heartbreak, the anger, the desolation, the loss, the pangs of remorse,

to feel anything at all,

not this numbness,
these tattered synapses, this innured state of anaesthetised unfeeling, the brittle thoughts that shatter, painless, when I stumble and crash, and fall.

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I ache for the ache, pining to pine, hungering to hunger, bleeding fragments of myself, only to bleed, to feel,

alive,

again…