Tag Archive: metaphor


talkin’ self-loathing blues …

I’ve been walking,
and a-talkin’

ramblin’ & rollin’

through deserted streets flowing with tears

down cobwebbed alleyways reeking of fears

just a-yakkin’ and a-scribblin’ these paltry rhymes

no absolution on sale at this carousel of blood-soaked crimes

just a-screamin’ that my tongue is fractured, broken

penitence perhaps for splintered words spoken

yes just ramblin’ along,

at ease at last

free of the shackles that bind my heart

crawlin’ on stage,
fatigued by this, my well-rehearsed part

dismissing clouds of promise

shredding whispered iloveyous

burning yesteryears struggles

denying my past as nonsensical farce

caught in a rat-trap
the walls closin’ in

tossin’ what’s left of me into fates’ dustbin

talkin’ too much as ever,

scribbling meagre rhymes to quell the mania

flowin’ in my veins like noxious poison

ramblin’ & a-rollin’ along

a doleful dirge for the paths I have chosen

shattering to pieces emotions frigid and a-frozen

just a-trippin’ through this circus parade,

seeking nothing much

‘cept the shelter of the shade

yet the paths wind
casting me adrift

on an ocean of tears
alone and at sea

squinting through blinded eyes that no longer can see

the pain etched on my own face

a wretched immigrant never knowing its place

so I keep ramblin’ and a-rollin’ along

bleeding out from a million cuts

always on the outside lookin’ in

while they dance and drink and cackle and fuck

leaving me to wallow

mired in the muck

so I ramble and roll and stagger through

discarding sentiments that once burned so true

suckling on apathy under skies of plastic blue

squinting through a foggy blur

life sprints past jabbing and a-pokin’

its parting words a venomous slur

whispered in a  sickly sweet cacophonous murmur

I stand alone

a vacuum now fickle
and
hollow

yet

I ramble and roll

searching for a sliver of a moment without desolation

without sorrow

and

as I stagger along as I ramble and follow

the one constant

hope

hope

H O P E

hope for a less savage tomorrow …

(for Pete, Huddie, Woody)

peace | love | uBuntu

Tears that Drown

why do tears fall
like rain,

slashing, flogging
splintered faces,

drowning in pain

peace | love | uBuntu

seeing | looking | feeling | knowing …

seeing,
through fading eyes,

looking,
yet unable to see,

feeling,
suffocating fears,

knowing,
these are not to be the last of the tears …

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.

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.

barefoot on a talcum beach,
alone, not lonely,

I have found,
at long last,

my final port of call …

The Hissing of Time …

1.

time hisses,
the threat perennial,

needling sounds
stowed away,
tucked-in,

silent …

2.

time hisses,
the threat perennial.

Time bides its time,

stowed away,
tucked-in,

silently knowing,

all that we shall all come to know,

in time …

panning through marshes of  twisted roots,

scrounging for a handful of promised truths,

thawing wounds aching afresh,

discarded emotions gnawing into now catatonic flesh …

we walk on, ever on,

fleeing the tumult of yesterdays sorrow,

we walk on, ever on,

thirsting for a glimpse of that liberating tomorrow,

to finally rid the heaving heart of the weight of the past,

content no more with brief, tenuous ceasefires,

but hungering instead for a peace that shall last …

faultlines …

faultlines …

cleaving through me,

embers flicker,

remnants of half baked verse,

smothered by tomorrows yet to dawn …

scribbled on fragile faultlines,

quills dipped in tears,

clinging onto hope,

tenuous,
fragile,

weaving wishes into tomorrows,

yet to be born …

Frenetic …

Frenetic …

thoughts of you gallop across the rolling savannah of my heart, and I am lost and bound and shackled and torn between what I may have lost and all that I may never have had, and if even for that one fleeting blip of life awakened on the desert wasteland that was my soul, I would choose the latter forever more …

Note: A Typical Example of a Thoroughly Contrived Romantic – Loss themed “Poem” …

looking back …

peering through the butterfly – wings of time,

I see myself,

ever searching for the truths,

to still my vagabond soul:

searching here,
there,

in-between here and everywhere,

till decades flash past,

the toll of maturity bringing with it,

the brutal truth,

that though I had searched here,

there,
and everywhere in-between,

I had failed to see you,

right there,
ever beside me,

and for that alone,

I do owe,

a heartfelt apology,

and,

an immeasurable amount of gratitude,

to thee …

Song for Bruce …

Song for Bruce Springsteen …

” … so you’ve been broke, and you’ve been hurt, show me somebody who ain’t … I know I ain’t nobody’s bargain, but hell a little touch-up and a little paint, I ain’t lookin’ for praise or pity, I ain’t searching for a crutch, I just want someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch, just a lil’ of that human touch …”Bruce Springsteen, ‘Human Touch’

do you revisit those sultry summer nights,

sweet sweat pouring off your skin,

your hair fanning an eternal fire,

toasting deep within,

ever since I saw you, standing at our old train station,

wearing your red beret,

and paging through a book by Emma Goldman,

somethin’ ’bout the tragedy of women’s emancipation,

we stood there in the pouring rain,

wishing we could race down the cobblestones on a renegade lane,

to take us away, from the stasis, the bruises, and the pain,

we laughed, we cried,
we held onto each other,

yearning for freedom,

from the straightjackets they tried to wrap around everyone’s brain …

Well, that was all those years ago,

when love meant something more than a ten buck stage show,

now the guys at the watering-hole tell me that you’re a big deal today,

it looks like you’ve packed Emma Goldman, and all your other books away,

perhaps they remind you of our younger selves,

it’s a pity that you’ve grown so large that there’s no room left for me on your neatly lined shelves,

ah but I still remember the woman that you once were,

but now you’re  weighed down by your pearls and your faux-fur …

I wonder if you even think of me at all,

the boy who promised to be beside you,

always,

f you ever were to stumble, or to fall,

or has your new gucci-clad crew,

stripped you of your soul,

as you laugh and drink and screw,

I wonder if you even remember my name,

or have you buried me along with all that you once were,

out of sanctimonious shame …

… I’m still here, where you left me, festering in this rotting old town,

unemployed since the years when those stock-tickers went plummeting down,

today as I stand in line for my warm bowl of soup,

the TV on the homeless shelter wall says it’s going to get worse,

cos’ even the banks have flown the coop,

well, I think of you often, as I lay my head on the cold ground,

tasting your soft lips as our tongues waltzed around,

but tonight I kiss my bottle of moonshine,

that keeps me company while the sophisticates wine and dine …

I know you’ve forgotten all about me,

cos’ you’ve got futures to trade,

blue-chip stocks to sell,

so sleep tight tonight, my darling, in that penthouse where you dwell,

I’m used-up now, there ain’t nothing more I can say or do,

I’ve run out of yarns to spin, I’ve exhausted all the stories I once could tell,

so all that I can offer,

is a silent fare-thee-well

Meandering …

Meandering …

Streams ebb,
flowing,

whittling away rock,

gradual,
patient,

seeking the anonymity of the seas.

Tears flow,
ebbing,

carving lines,
engraving faces,

frantic,
raucous,

fleeing the comfort of emptiness …

Shrapnel …

Shrapnel …

the journeys have been tiresome,

pock-marked with wounds,

raw,
open,

the silent stab of nagging shrapnel,

of emotions,

shredded,
discarded,

stripping my soul bare,

naked,
exposed,

to the winds of unborn tomorrows …

the journey continues,

staggering,
hither and thither,

the self unsure,

gutted,

a heart,
a mind,

a long forgotten kiss,

like salt on burnt skin,

shrapnel embedded deep within,

the recesses of a desolate heart,

a desert of nothingness ahead,

but for that mirage,

a faint hazy oasis,

where I finally see you,

your eyes a vision of distilled truth …

“who are you?”, you ask of me,

“I am not yet him”, I say,

“I have yet to become me” …

Splinters …

Splinters …

fragments of faded stills,

litter my heart …

trembling lips, that first kiss,

moist cheeks,
sweeping up shards of a broken heart,

torn laughs,
stabbing within,

as splinters of bygone selves,

needle,
jab,

pierce this night,

as scribbled verses seek,

ache,
hunger,

for that sliver of light …

Dreaming of Words …

The dream floats,

ink drying on celluloid,

words mangled,

verses strewn to the winds,

across burning sandalwood skies.

The mind wrestles,

the pen digs into parchment,

metaphors skewered,

thoughts stilled by the cacophony of solitude.

Words devour space,

shredding time,

leaving me ever hopeful,

for hardly a reason …

… but for paltry,

meagre,

empty rhyme …

http://m.bbc.com/news/magazine-29352405

afzaljhb@gmail.com

Hope & Renewal …

Hope & Renewal …

1.

Hidden beneath life’s undergrowth,

a flower blooms,

amidst  thorns,

a whiff of beauty wafts over desolate spaces,

deep in the thicket of my heart,

where wounds are raw,

and the world is merely a blur of worn-down faces.

2.

The solitary flower strains towards the light,

in the dim bleakness of unnamed woes,

it’s fragility,

innocence distilled,

pristine,

simple,

natural,
healing,
renewing,

reaching between the open wounds,

of this splintered heart,

caressing my soul,

with a faint murmur of promise.

3.

Hidden beneath life’s undergrowth,

life stirs,

whistling melodies,
healing my shattered heart,

offering comfort,
solace,

peace,

a wounded peace,
while gathering the pieces,

an elusive, wily peace,

yet tangible,

alive!

breathing!

Breathing life back,

as pain flees,

and as,

numbness ceases…

afzaljhb@gmail.com

Vincent & Ludwig – 3

Vincent & Ludwig…

“Your ‘Sunflowers’ evokes the beauty of a sublime sonata to my deaf ears, my dear Vincent”,

“Ah! but you do hear! You hear the passions that torment my soul, my dear friend Ludwig”,

“And you paint in the colours of my dreams, Vincent, where I am alone in a field of sunflowers, as the moonlight caresses each tender stem”,

“Yes, Ludwig! Just as your ‘Moonlight Sonata’ moves me to tears, the tears that you see as delicate drops of dew on the sunflowers of your dreams”,

“Sunflowers bathed in soft moonlight”, smiles Ludwig,

“Oh yes, that same canvas of night that sways to the delicate touch of your music”, Vincent says with a wink.

Ludwig smiles again, as Vincent laughs a hearty laugh.

scribblerofverses@gmail.com

Ludwig & Vincent…

‘what inspired you to write your 9th?’, Vincent asks Ludwig.

‘madness, dear Vincent. Distilled, concentrated madness’.

‘wasn’t it madness that drove you to sketch starry nights above a sea of Irises?’, Ludwig asks Vincent.

‘madness it was, Ludwig. A madness of the soul. Restless, frantic, maddening madness’, whispers Vincent.

‘what does that make us, my dear Vincent?’, Ludwig murmurs, leaning close to Vincent.

‘sane’, says Vincent.

‘yes, Vincent. Sane’, responds Ludwig.

Vincent reaches up and feels around for his phantom ear,

Ludwig smiles, touching his ear that once could hear…

scribblerofverses@gmail.com

Vincent and Ludwig…

“Do you know, my dear Ludwig, that I’ve sold just one of my paintings?”

“Yes, Vincent, do not despair, my friend, they cannot, will not, fathom the flower that reveals its petals before their eyes”

“I suppose you are right, old friend. They cannot, will not, hear your ‘Ode to Joy’, though it is you who are deaf!”

“But my dear Vincent, you do hear my ‘Ode to Joy’, deep in your soul”

“Yes, I hear it, I feel it, Ludwig, flowing like liquid paint through the canvas of my veins”

“My dear Vincent, I too feel your brush-strokes, and in each swirl of colour I hear your joy, and I can touch your pain”

“What does that make us, my friend? Two men cast adrift on the bluest seas, leaving nothing behind, yet heading nowhere. What does that make us then?”, asks Vincent.

“Human”, replies Ludwig, smiling.

“Human, yes, dear Ludwig”.

“And that is enough”, says Ludwig, almost to himself.

“It is enough”, smiles Vincent.

“To be human. It is enough.”

Vincent laughs, as Ludwig watches a gentle wave caress their toes, through their tattered shoes.

scribblerofverses@gmail.com

Farcical Verse

Farcical Verse…

Spurious words frothing, contorted and forked,

litter the discarded alleyways through which I have walked,

my smile, the merest sliver of a veil cloaked and clogged,

my callous heart awaits it’s fate, the release of finally being flogged,

each putrid breath taken reeks of stale consciences, left shoddily out to rot,

every fractured word spoken should be put up against the wall to be humanely shot …

… So if he should come calling, raise your head up high, be brave and be strong,

and tell him that it is over, tell him that there is no one, and that there is nothing, and that there is nowhere at all, left to belong

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