i don’t have a name to call my own,
the winds have taken my echo,
erased my impression on this sand,
i am reading through the leaves
of the nature’s manuscript, infusing
a blood of green & blue in my veins,
i lie down on the broken boundaries
of a globe, while plucking at my throat-
strings (coursing through the rivers,
plains, and mountains) in search
of a lost voice, that was never mine
to begin with, in this body of lies.
.
© Anmol Arora
For Weekend Mini-Challenge: Homographic Fun at WRT
“i am reading through the leaves of the nature’s manuscript, infusing a blood of green & blue in my veins,” .. this is incredibly evocative in its longing, Anmol! It’s true that voice at times seems to hide beneath the stream of consciousness .. perhaps too numb to present itself .. but it’s there nonetheless. This poem is so raw and deeply infused in shades of sorrow .. that one can’t help but want to reach out and extend a hand .. a person’s mind is so powerful that it possesses the art to invent and destroy with thoughts alone.
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I really like the loose rhyme dancing through this one, and the way the images connect with each other to paint such a clear picture. As in “the leaves / of the nature’s manuscript”, which leaves me thinking of books made of living forests. And the last stanza, how it circles and moves while the speaker lies down, says so much about the complexity of being and searching and discovering…
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I really like the unusual way you have presented nature here… not as a solace but as the thief who have stolen your voice… like this a lot.
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i am reading through the leaves
of the nature’s manuscript…
This is just the most sublime poem. An instant favourite.
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These are stunning lines, Anmol, especially :
‘the winds have taken my echo,
erased my impression on this sand’
and I like the way the final stanza starts and ends with the homograph!
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Yes, what a unique expression of nature… I can’t choose a favorite line. The whole piece is beautiful.
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‘I am reading through the leaves
of the nature’s manuscript’
‘the winds have taken my echo,
erased my impression on this sand’
Just two examples of stunning writing, Anmol!
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So many wonderful lines in this! Breathtaking! A voice stolen is certainly a poet’s sadest song! Love that Bridge Over Trooubled Waters too!
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This was fun to read, Anmol, a jar to begin with because the poor writer was NOTHING, had nothing either. He might could commit the perfect crime and run off with the money jar.
..
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kaykuala
in search of a lost voice, that was never mine
to begin with, in this body of lies.
Great lines HA. There is an uncanny presence of a poet’s voice within you all the time with having penned such wonderful lines!
Hank
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how anxious!
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