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.

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HOME AND HIBERNATION

And out of nowhere came this madness to wreck mayhem in my already topsy turvy world! Tickets back to Singapore were initially booked on the Chennai transit (why of all the cities?) Because of the shortest layover I could muster, given my still delicate health conditions and which was never even an intentional choice in all my 23 years of travel to and from Singapore. This had to be it even though I was on unfamiliar grounds. But Luck seemed to have a mind of it's own and turned its back on me when Fenjal decided to crash bang in the middle of orderly events, a day before my intended day of travel. When destiny's favorite child was shielded by Baba and his blessings, even Luck had to bow down and retreat in haste. **** Roused from my siesta with a sense of a peculiar dimness and chill , a far cry from the usually sunny and blinding brightness of humid Mangalore, I couldn't help but have that niggling feeling at the back of my mind. Checking on the flight updates for IXE-M...

IRONCLAD

I trudged through withered bracken and the frosted winter parade As ice-storms swept across a barren, icicle'd glade A hushed midnight and the gloomy woods were bathed in a dull pallor of the gibbous moon Melodies lamented and moaned an endless, melancholic tune ‘Twas a lone walk through pastures of wilted blooms Solitude was a friend in the summers of honey breath in the deep green woods Swept away by the currents or blown away by the torrents As twilight lazily rested on hillocks and in the amaranthine dells Like a laden cloud I cascaded down when the load was a dead weight I had gathered pieces of myself and strung them together with a parched wreath Pensive was the boon of listening to rumbling whispers Like a dimpling stream I flowed and carved my own trails Like the ocean arose and crashed to write my own fate, Letting the sun guide my way and the moon shine on my rugged path Now I ask all the pulsing stars to sing of my struggles, The forests to hum...

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I finally muster the energy, the grit and the emotional embrace to write about it. When life socked the daylights out of me in ways that I never imagined, I looked on the upside of it as a divine intervention and a another miracle to add to my list in this year 2024 which went down the memory highway full throttle ahead. July 7, Dear Diary is a day which left a distinct mark. A day when my father had a coronary follow up and I not only went along, but also had a check up done for myself. This was a couple of days after my visit to Sai Mandir where Sai Baba guided me to go for a cardiogram. A strong inner voice, authoritative yet kind, a heightened intuition, call it what I may, rang in a manner that couldn't be ignored. That said and done, I had a consultation with my father's doc who did my ECG and ECHO. Minutes flew by in deafening silence when he finally finished the tests and to my horror bluntly revealed that I have an ASD. A 38mm hole in my heart. I was advised to go f...

SAPPHIRE POOLS (DAY 3, POST 1)

Glinting sunlight off jeweled pools of sapphire Shimmering in the vast aridness of coppery fire Fringed with a viridescent canopy of trees fig and fronds of palm A sanctuary for birds and animals to splash about, it's a soothing balm Scorched and parched, my soles trudge on the sun baked grains Seeking respite from the bleeding crimson fireball, stranded I remain Mounting sand dunes, slipping, tumbling, sinking Scraped and raw, peeling sunburnt skin Veils of illusion lifts from fleeting dreams and hollow shine Fading hues of paradise around reduced to shriveled creepers and withering vines Imperial silver puddles on blazing bronze sand Deceived again by the phantom of the parched land Visions and charms swirl like a mist under a chrome moon Conjuring sprites of the desert weave mirages of oasis and lagoons Sailing across a barren horizon are walls of crystal waves No water lilies and wild roses unfurl under these mystic skies. ©️ Sangeetha Kamath Pic Courtesy: Pixabay

TULIP-O'-PURPLE

TULIP-O'-PURPLE The flower you sent me stands tall in a vase of porcelain The bud clammed close concealing drops of rain It holds a promise of a lavender refrain The silken petals of webbed lilac veins The stalk a mossy green reminds me of meadows The long walks in the Alps and valleys below I conjure up woodlands and dappled sunset glow Purple is my favourite colour you always know The delicate bloom of sweet fragrance Reminds me of an amethyst of lustrous brilliance Swaying in the summer breeze it yearns for a dance A single Tulip in a vase takes a ballerina stance Blooming in full two days later Invites butterflies all aflutter As precious as a fairytale dream It is tinged at the tips in hues of clotted cream Purple is soon brown---a colour of wither... A hardbound diary is used to press and preserve Along with the card and cheri...

Sangeetha Kamath

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