of a broken time

this evening’s hands are tied
to a clock ticking away
in perpetuity,

as there are countless soil kernels,
all residing in a (p)inch of land
for me,

there are countless evenings,
all lined up in the curve-length
between

the uni-
verse & (t)here.

perhaps the clock is broken.
perhaps i am writing to a time
that never occurred.

.
© Anmol Arora

Day 19
(Inter)National Poetry Month

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down ‘memory’ lane

some pink, some white, some dead —
all the blossoms look fine-spirited,
dangling by the warm wind & waning
words of despondency,

abridging the distance between lives
&loves, unfulfilled, coming unhinged,
undone in the suggestive colours and
cocoons of their stationary existence.

i look grim in the blues of many nights,
still-born like a survival tale,
i am wicked, and winning at this game
to know of my wherewithals (wise ones),

when the night is over and i am down
&drunk over the waters of a pious Lethe,
flowing, coursing, right through me.

.
© Anmol Arora

Day 13
(Inter)National Poetry Month

vicissitudes of the moon

rachel-fenner-windy-landscape-with-waning-moon

it’s funny how the half-bitten moon takes me back to those cold winter nights when i would stand outside, my arms shivering, trying to get a glimpse of the celestial body through the fog — a kind of restive peace descending all over me, blood in my hands, seemingly more blue than red. i was a witness to the change of every breath and every distant sound that would make its presence known to me.

now as i stand outside looking at the same half-bitten moon, i am not shivering and i am not under the spell of the quiet and peace, that may prevail elsewhere. but it is not the same moon; i am not the same eye or arm or form. every change received and given courses through me, through my blood that is in and not out, the night in me deeper, the music a darker hue of blue. this transition is alright. i am alright tonight.

a waning moon —
memories of lonely nights
flowing through me
~
a change in the backdrop —
the milk-white moon sturdier
in the lasting cold

© Anmol Arora 2018

Image source (Windy Landscape With Waning Moon by Rachel Fenner)
For dVerse Haibun Monday

 

all that I left with you

drops, a photograph by Totomai Martinez

I left a losing thing in the shadow
of leaves of the lone standing teak,
it was a pond of reminiscence that
snatched it from me, that losing
thing, now submerged, lost from me.

an ant answered the call when I
arrived at the wooden frame prop-
-ed as an entryway to your soul, and
I knocked a repeated knock, but
there was no opening, no close.

will you return all that I left?
can you walk on the ice of my hand,
which pulsates like venom in cold?
I neither expect nor prod, I am
a hermit walking by and away from you.

I remind you all of me that still is
with you, to ask you to return
those drops I left, that smile I
left in the lightness of your arms,
return to me that tempest of my eyes.

return back to me all I left, or not,
I’ll be asleep in the end, and aware
of all that I have left in this valley
nuzzling the horizon, rearing the
river of a memory in its womb.

.

I began to write keeping some other image in mind, but my muse took me somewhere else. After scrutinizing carefully through the wondrous collection of Totomai Martinez, I came across this photograph.

Maybe, the muse responded to the song I was humming a few minutes back. It is one of my favorites; it is in Hindi but English subtitles are added in this video:

And I ended up watching the entire movie. 😉

For dverse Poetics.

Changing the tone of the poem – Two different poems

Lifeless… yet there

I want to be made, just a memory,

not concrete, just something abstract,

a play of the mind, real or unreal,

a question to be answered, but never been,

.

I want to be made, just a picture,

body-less, with nothing, to key the clogs

of a futile mind, left unacknowledged,

but for my colours grimacing at you,

.

I would want to be, just a single word,

you would sometimes, recite in your sleep,

having no soul, no truth, no reality to cope with,

defined by those letters, stringed together,

.

I would want to be a ripple on the pond,

in which you can see, your own distortion,

ignoring the worthlessness of me, the me

being left whirling around, in concentric circles,

.

I would want to be, the blow of air,

that comes by, to kiss your cheeks,

and you take it in, not having seen me,

being I am nothing but gas and vapour,

.

I would want to be, a single grain of soil,

undistinguishable, among many others,

of the same size, colour, and shape,

broken up into a minute existence,

.

I would want, to be the dew drop,

of your red eyes, unnoticed, sneaking,

surviving in your pain, I am lost

when you wipe me away, to oblivion,

.

I would want to be a thing with no life,

for life has betrayed me, much and I shall

rest, as that memory, sand grain, blow of air,

or eye pearl, ripple, picture or just a mere word

.

Image source

.

I wish I could… be with you somehow

I wish I could, just be a memory,

not concrete, just something abstract,

coming to make you giggle, when

life seems hard, and you need a good laugh,

.

I wish I could, just be a picture,

body-less, which you could keep,

in your closet, to sneak a look, in

the dead of night, with a nostalgic smile,

.

I wish I could, just be a single word,

you would sometimes recite, in your sleep,

no obligations, but a desire etched,

in those letters stringed together,

.

I wish I could, just be a ripple, on the pond,

reflecting all that, what you want to see,

through your own eyes, you can find,

your truth whirling around, in concentric circles,

.

I wish I could, just be a blow of air,

that comes by, to kiss your cheeks,

and you take it in, not having seen me,

an acceptance, of something pure and free,

.

I wish I could, just be a single grain, of soil,

unrecognizable, among many others,

becoming the ground, you pass by,

wishing you may feel, the feel of me,

.

I wish I could, just be a dew drop,

of your red eyes, unnoticed sneaking,

taking away your pain, as you wipe me away,

or I drip down to oblivion, and you feel safe,

.

I wish I could, just be an inconsequential thing,

so that I can, see you live, through my sorrows,

become that memory, sand grain, blow of air,

or eye pearl, ripple, picture or just a mere word

.

Image source

.

I wrote a poem(the earlier one) and it has a depressing tone to it, if you have noticed. Then, I thought of playing with it and I converted it into a romantic one(the latter one), with certain changes in the words and the tone of it. I guess, my poetic style has remained the same in both of them. The change has just come in its tone.

How important is the tone of the poem? How is it influenced? What do you think?

.

Moment: A Haibun

 

As I pave my way on the wet sand, there are those marks left behind but only for a while; soon to be swept away by the rushing sea waves. The sea breeze is warm and cold at the same time and plays with my hair. It is at this moment when I turn towards the horizon, where one could see the mating sea and sky. I am falling in love with this scene but it is only a few minutes time when I would get a summon of leaving behind this moment which won’t ever come again. It is like those footprints I talked about. Oh! They are already melted into the waters . I must as well disappear into this wind. But I was here and that moment was here with me. A tiny kernel of sand would one day tell you this story; it is for you to believe or not.

leaving behind me

a moment of memory

temporary marks

.

*For Carpe Diem Kamishbai # 3. The prompt is to write a haibun inspired by the above photograph and the following haiku by Jane Reichhold:-

smooth sand

chasing children down the beach

their foot prints

Random Poetry

Fibonacci

See

me

in the

eyes of

nobody else but

only that of your very own.

Five-Liner

Meet

me on

the river side

where is situated the

temple.

Fibonacci

The

long

chatter

you have had

with yourself, for sure

did terrify me completely.

Haiku

beam of Sun over the

top of the enchanting tree

trapped in memory.