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...

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!...

HILANG

Chapter 2 Muay, the Maddening Scamp Seasons had gone by with vibrant autumns and chilling winters. Muay Thai had now become very outgoing and social. On a full moon night, this newly transformed scamp had bounded away on some nocturnal adventure. I waited for her return for almost a week. As I searched high and low for Muay Thai, my heart raced with panic with every passing moment. On one of my search treks, I spotted something that made my blood run cold. Lying on the ground, partially hidden by the underbrush on the curbside, was Muay Thai's collar. The vibrant fuchsia leather was faded and dirty, but the delicate zircon pendant still sparkled in the sunlight and that had caught my attention. Holding it gently in my hands, I examined it for any sign of what might have happened to Muay Thai. But there was nothing - no blood, dried or otherwise. Maybe, just maybe, Muay Thai was still out there, wait...

GATOS MEUS QUERIDOS

Chapter 1 Muay The Warrior Cat Muay Thai came to be called so for the feisty and spirited little thing she was, reminiscent of the intense and energetic martial art of Muay Thai . Her bold personality inspired me to give her a name that reflected her sass and vigor. Muay Thai's antics were the stuff of legends. She was a buzz of energy, always getting into mischief and mayhem. Whether she was chasing invisible bugs, leaping over furniture like an acrobat or wrestling with toys, Muay Thai was a force to be reckoned with. Her favorite pastime was "attacking" my hands and feet, using her lightning-fast reflexes and razor-sharp teeth. It was a game she loved, and one that always left me in stitches. Despite her tough-as-nails persona, Muay Thai was also a total softie at heart. She loved nothing more than curling up in my lap and purring contentedly, her eyes gleaming with adoration before snoozing into the deepest of sl...

EILÍFUR GJÖF (ETERNAL GIFT)

It was pre-dawn and still dark. The shrill alarm jolted me from the depths of a death-like sleep even as I tried to cling on to the fading vestiges of a sweet dream. I was just within reach of seeing its mysterious ending but it was gone. Like a wisp of smoke! I tried to slowly blink away the remnants of sleep from my eyes---heavily lidded and which just refused to open even a crack at a grim time like this. The alarm was ringing incessantly. Could it be a mistake that I set it to go off so early? At this bleak hour?! Uh! Hold on, it wasn’t the alarm but a phone call for crying out loud!” At this unearthly time, when most of this side of the world was asleep, I dearly hoped that it would be from one of the two sources--Either from ** Piny Woods Primary School or ** Woody Pines Primary School . Yes, Thank God! I was right! I recognised ** Carrie’s number of **Piny Woods Primary School. Phone calls during pitch-black hours did tend to give me the chills, driving me to think ...

Sangeetha Kamath

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