SWEVEN

SWEVEN

Castle walls and turrets in a tinsel of stained glass

House curling wisps, pale ghosts of yesteryears in a slow dance with the infinite stars

A riddle born of crusted ink, she's fragments of history,

rhythm and lyrics, a floating sweven of poetry

There's a fierce winter in her heart where the glaciers don't thaw

Soundless lullabies are stinging echoes, at times howling blizzards against gusts of snow

Gold trimmed sarcophagus and oceans of lapis lazuli

Weave silken strands of summery cobalt to cocoon her heart gauzy

Roadmaps to destiny were dilapidated jigsaw pieces and ingots of serrated edges

Time! Oh vile thief! Scorched on her soul, etched on her mind, coursing through her veins– a stagnant, potent ache

Crocheting splintered memories more distant than the Orion

Impaling obsidian, sometimes as soft as a black swan's down

Skies drenched in ivory sheen quivering in the wind dripping with dew

In a raw summer of deserts where her seasons don't turn, as Icarus she too flew to the Sun, oh alackaday! To be crisped with a soft epilogue

It's a dawn of the roses as you bleed against her thorns

In a hunt for a lavender amethyst amid mirages of boulevards fringed with elusive turquoise palms

Dipping, splashing her toes in dark marshes while collapsing into nightmares freeze

The rain and rivers in her eyes, the incessant rustling hum is a madding surging of her seas

Frozen, molten, riding on the tails of comets—the galaxies expand, shrink, crinkle and sizzle

A torrent, a thunder, she, an insane wroth of exotic horror—Lilith, Athena or Venus donning mantles of rhapsody and ecstatic sanity, an alembic conjuror

Mad as magic, strumming Gypsy chants and moor canticles,

Her heart beats are hymns of the autumn skies, blue orchids and argent slivers

She's an embrace of a pewter-winged angel– a rough-hewn, tough love bard

Worshiper of the moon, she's gone in a trice! poof! whizzing away on the wings of a frisky gem-studded hummingbird.

Pic Courtesy:Pixabay

An abstract poem is non - linear, has no narrative, it is like a dream- hazy, elusive, and open to interpretation

The flow of words, in abstract poetry, seems like one were thinking aloud. Symbols, sounds, colours or persons can indicate an idea, or a quality.

Comments

ANAM CARA

The waves are soft and frothy. Laced with gossamer frills tenderly kissing the tips of my toes covered with the grainy sand of the rugged seashore where I'm sitting, wistful. A gust of briny breeze tousles my hair as I gaze as far as my eyes can see. A flock of terns wheel overhead, their sharp, shrill cries punctuating the air as they dive and swoop over the surfs. A lone frigate bird , its crimson belly dazzling like a jewel skims majestically above, its long, slender wings outstretched as it rides the thermals high above the ocean. I absorb the sights and sounds of the late afternoon while absentmindedly scooping seashells beside me. As the afternoon phases, the furthest rim of the ocean is fringed in a gilded hem and the sleepy sun yawns, its dipping glow streaking the sky in a mellow tangerine and warm cherry. As I continue sitting there, the ships and yachts appear --specks of light from the portholes glimmering in the distance, reminding me of the phrase “That ship has sai...

BOKETTO

In my quiet moments, I pause the world from its frantic pace. In that stillness, I wistfully gaze into the distance and just let things unfurl as they please. I let my thoughts flow, absorbing nothing. Internalizing nothing. And just like that, the strands of tightly woven twine untangle and the knots come loose. Today, as usual, I found myself caught up in the hustle and bustle of daily grind. I was rushing to get things done, stressing about deadlines, and feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of tasks on my to-do list. But then, I took a deliberate pause. With a deep breath, I stretched, stepped away from my desk, and walked out onto my balcony. Leaning on the railing, I looked down at the familiar lanes of my neighborhood, twirling around the corners behind the blocks of apartments. The park and playground stood deserted at noon amid the cluster of flowering trees and surrounded by the hedges lining the curbs. I gazed at the sky, feeling the warm sun on my face and ...

ARIEL AND BLUE-BLOOD SHOES

The waves crashed violently against the craggy mountainside and the moonlight shone on the lacy froths. As I waded through the water and stepped on the wet sand, I remembered another night which was many moons ago. The same glinting lights through the palace doorways and windows, the fireworks adorning the night sky like shooting stars and meteors. A royal celebration with all the works and the guests dressed up in their best finery and aristocratic jewelry. Of noble births they all were. Blue blooded as the matriarch had pointedly told me once. That unholy night! That night of icy hearts and howling laughter, the echoes of cackling that followed me till I ran on wobbly legs to find my place of comfort where the land met water… Hot tears streaming down, I regretted those days when I lost my heart to a man so spineless. Had I not dragged him to the shore, he would have been a mangled mass after being torn apart by the piranhas and other monstrous maws. How I regret…Oh!...

CHẠ̀WKHRĀW (Chxw̒kh rxw̒)

As usual, at the dot of 8 pm, the Guzheng plays its stirring chords, the haunting notes beginning a slow sweep, rising to a powerful crescendo and alternating with a tranquil ebbing of melody surfing me along the waves of soul-stirring, yet a serene stretch of an hour every day. I make it a point to sit right beside my dining room window to bask in this lulling sound therapy as my neighbor downstairs diligently plays on this zither, oblivious to my admiration. What a luxury it is to have a live orchestra while I savour the last meal of the day. It's a welcome distraction to the otherwise jarring squabbling of the playful neighbourhood children. The Chạ̀wkhrāw of this– that the musical household might move one day is a foreboding thought. Foreshadowing this, deeply ingrained in me is the shattering news I had received upon returning to Singapore after an 8 month absence here. The Ramadan festive season was fast approaching at the end of March but the apar...

HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIDE

The sleek steel grey landline with it's cordless handset gleams in the mid morning sunlight. It's only a fixture on the tabletop these past several years yet loved and flaunted for old times sake. Also, for the numerous times the handset had nestled in our palms. The vintage feel of it and the stronghold of memories I associate it with beats the smartphone by miles. It has in turn been a confidante of our precious moments, some idling talk, some annoyance oh yes ! and all before Whatsapp made an entry into our lives and the poor dear was no longer in demand. The world was at our fingertips. It doesn't complain, doesn't whimper, not even a sigh, murmur or a slightest hint at a whisper of life for the past decade and more! Except… On Thursday the daylights were socked out of me! Lost in mundane chores, I had my gloved hands deep in a pile of soapy water scrubbing away at the breakfast dishes. The usual swell of silence was harshly rend by the landline from the livin...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog