Monday, March 21, 2016

Muse And Sorrow

Hello Satish,

I lovely poem here from you, albeit a sad one.

There is much wisdom in your writing, a sense of self respect and knowledge of your own ability. I like this.

An uneasy blood cascades
in the slender arteries
when you,
that I wanted to touch
disappear into twilight of memory.
^
The way you describe blood as being uneasy is effective. It tells me that the heart it flows from is uneasy, and so the mind is too. The 'slender' part creates a fragility in the body. The way you describe abandonment is good too. Like a whisper lost to rustling leaves, the twilight takes this person away... leaving a cold lonely scene in my mind. Excellent.

Always a sense of bereavement.
why do I care for you?
Time drops like an old coin
in the hands of a drifter.
^
The word 'always' shows that this has happened before. It makes me question is this by one person, or by others? The question is good though, it is the question felt by this reader so pre-empting this is a nice touch. The last two lines is a good metaphor. Giving a drifter money like giving time/ energy/ emotion to a person only for the gratitude to be short lived and the encounter to be brief.

Take away my sleep
I want to wake for the whole night
and recite the unwritten poems.
^
As a kind of forfeit - sleep sacrificed for art, the healing of turning musing into actual words.

Again life had been very kind to me
I am free to face
muse and sorrow.
^
Here the life experience shows. Being blessed with the skills to handle such sadness creates a part inside that always remains in control and calm. This serenity will heal the 'uneasy blood and so the body and mind.

Well done and take care,-Mr Darcy

On The Death Of A Friend

This is very beautiful and replete with such beautiful imagery. I particularly like "Your face swims like a dragonfly on the interface of tears." I imagine a dragonfly whose wings are made translucent by human tears. Try as it might, it cannot reenter the frame of life. There is such a tinge of sadness to someone having died unsung. It reminds me of when I was nineteen, discovering that my father was buried in an unmarked grave. How dishonorable it seemed for him to be buried without even his name, unsung, if you will. While I remedied that by putting a marker on his grave, the sting of that finding has never left me.-Linda Marie Van Tassell

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Dirty Homes

The opening verse is brilliant,

While going my way, searching an eternal flame
I confront an extraordinary trauma,
God does not live, but dies in me daily.

When witnessing tragedies and hopelessness in the lives of so many, each day is a struggle to keep the faith and god alive within. with each death and each story of destruction that we are exposed to, it feels like yet once again gods glory meets the dust... so it is an on going struggle of keeping god from dying within us.

Pain and melancholy surrounds this poem,
very well expressed and summed up....with these lines

The masks are crying from the split walls
languishing in the hopeless garden.
Wherever you go, the windows are closed
and the smoke rings
rising from the chimneys of dirty homes

Thank you for sharing this one Mr. Verma. - JayJ Nair

A Yearning

You get better with every poem you write.
This one really consumed my knowledge of art as I read it.
The way you wrote it makes it attractive calling to be read.

I like the last stanza.

"At last we will take the heat of sun
in open sky,
manipulate the wind metaphorically
and sleep in our bodies."

Nicely done.
All the best.
Shanky-DarkLight

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Saturday, March 5, 2016

Pale Confession

Wow!! I like it. This is not a criticism but I think it is amazing and deserves a stronger title. - Mickey Perillo

Wednesday, March 2, 2016