Marley | Light Up The Darkness

 
 
Stirring up love in his guitar strings,
Reggae, calm and soothing, but
the flow seemingly with revolt,
Hit the passionless cells of my being,
With percussion, commanding,
To get up and stand up,
With his insistence to never give up!
The story of renaissance,
With redemption and dream,
Birds that came to wish you well,
Worries dissolving with his voice,
Gods never came from the skies,
But the music continued.
So much trouble in the world,
Yet sun was shining with him,
Conviction of saving the world
with each breath, spreading
like marijuana in the nerves,
Emancipating men from slavery, with
songs of freedom, sounding high!
Oh, the world we live today,
Devious and deceptive!
And yet, the tender joys we share
with Bob’s eternal voice
shall carry no bounds,
Like a drop of faith and
a world of roots, rock and reggae! 
Notes
Planned to write a poem about Bob Marley, the legendary reggae artist whose birthday was on February 6th. Sadly due to some unexpected difficulties couldn’t bring it up on his birthday, yet I hope any day is perfect to describe Bob. A true hero in every respect and a remarkably great human being. Bob, your memories shall live on and shall continue to inspire lives.

Rage

I found these hollow words; inaudible,
But with sarcastic resonance floating
and clogging the path towards time.
Brute honesty, abiding by virtue
forgets the unconventional marriage
with a cupid bound by divine mediation.
It breaks through, and clears the path
for the clogged words to flow,
With it the marriage must shatter!
The undying saga of words erupt,
Orgasmic, it send shrills to the ears,
Rage is momentary but truth shall prevail!

Face the Fear

According to an All India Tiger Census conducted during 2011, an estimated 1706 tigers are only left in the country.

Maybe because of horror,
Before me his canines illuminated,
The potency of fear consumes you,
It draws your attention, commands
your mortal self to act vigorously!
I could never outrun him, yet
piety flew inside my veins,
His scars conversed with me
about the woes of being hunted,
Queerly it gave my fears an asylum,
Inside which I could feel empathy.
The hunter has become the hunted,
His leap is my last memory,
With all concealed rage,
At me, at humanity,
His canines glowed,
In an effervescent red!

Welcoming Spring

Star Valley Flower Farm, by Toril Fisher
Courtesy : secondcloudfarm		    

Here the dews which settled idly on paddy leaves

seem to have returned back to the distant skies,
A butterfly, anxious to gather nectar from a blooming
bed of flowers danced to the morning ragas,
A bottle of honey gathered by the bee was distibuted
around her household, the sweetness made their tender
wings to ripple in ecstatic enjoyment.
There the plants opened their hands, 
Unfolding their might,
As they woke up from deep slumber, 
Like an escaped yawn a wind blew upon the Earth, 
Her gentle children fed their face against the yawn, 
Themselves humming a tune of joy.
And then the Sun threw her silken blanket of warmth,
Underneath which the bustle of love exploded 
into fragrances of delight.
Suddenly, the valleys echoed, a visitor dressed in floral
medleys have neared, he shall plant life on these fertile fields.

Goodbye Blue Sky

The poem was inspired from a Pink Floyd song of the same title. I dedicate this poem to everyone in the world, even though many would not fall directly into impact range (at least for now), blue sky is fading, and some day you would definitely bear the consequences.

https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/_kGOAWnvyWA&source=uds
Oh, my lovely blue sky,
For my poetic flaws, I request pardon.
You were gentle today,
While my brothers exhaled
fumes (toxic and dark) into
your fragile threshold,
I guess you choked,
A portion of you dying away,
An artwork disfigured!
You were gentle in the past,
While your calm clouds
were shattered by murders,
Those wails were not for
our children alone, but
for your dismembered grace.
You were gentle forever,
When suppressed by us,
You never complained,
Stayed there, not moving,
And continued to pour
your affection, which sadly,
Fueled our pride and conviction.
Now, while you fade,
I wonder if children ever would
look up at the heavens and smile,
How will the world define blue?
And our family sustain the woe?
Because we thought your hue,
Shall forever color our lives too.

The Story of Three Demons

‘The most dangerous of all negativity is anxiety, self abuse and untruth.’

One
The skies thundered in fresh outburst,
I believe it were blood that rained, fury,
Higher than all sense of indignity is
the wrath of Ein Sof* and his creed.

The realm shifts, obscure patterns change,
A satanic indulgence reforms the world,
But the anxiety over self-motives still remain,
The skies settle, it begins to rain.

Two
Constantly assuring that my hands aren’t
red with the blood of comrades is a habit,
But in an unruly battle, no choices are left,
When even death is a masterful theft.

I notice the dark shadows beneath my eyes,
I am wary of the doubt that creeps, clawing
into the threshold of peaks unclimbed,
There I see a spot untouched, it bears the tag
‘FINISH’, furnished because I shall never reach.

Three
The blind world continued its walk,
With a stick pointed up,
No soul shall stutter nor fall,
In front of them an obliterated world, but
for them the stick is salvation, the truth!

*Ein Sof – in Kabbalah, is understood as God prior to His self-manifestation in the production of any spiritual realm. Ein Sof may be translated as “no end”, “unending”, “there is no end”, or infinite.

In Love

Two peaks, like opposite poles of a magnet,
One which draws in hidden torments, and
The other takes away tears before it evaporates!
The guitar strings which reverberates, with it
claiming to soothe my realms with musical dreams,
Waits for an instant, I pause to hear echoes of wind!
Beyond me is a drop into oblivious densities,
Densities lined by clouds and scarcely visible trees,
My mind made the leap, before my ears are blocked by wind.
I stare in awe, I feel the drift of the stars,
The motion of the Earth, creation and deletion of galaxies,
And my body shooting forth into void space!
For once, I feel the universe holding her hands inside mine!
I grip tighter, a faint smile rises in the sky,
‘For you I shall die’, my whisper breaks the silence.

Insomnia

Duels, treacherous yet fought forever inside,
Malignant and fetid with dead thoughts,
Unburnt, reproduced at ceremonious will,
With the strange retribution of a wish which is ill,
Or a plain surge of lost words inside the mind.
The disarray of unclosed eyes and restless mind,
Often violently inflamed by countless chants,
Chants that the mind plays, over and over to chain
the untamed beast that roams in commanding liberty,
Who shreds the nerves that pursue smiles and magnify arts,
Which until now kept the beast carefully inside.

Perhaps the events began with a fusion,
A fusion of a fearsome dogma with a created cult,
Destruction of all goodness stands at paramount priority,
Put to blame are the mistake that produced guilt,
Or unaccounted traces of self doubt, both of which
Strangle the senses. They are wasted between
the sites of production and the targets of action.

Eyes turn crimson, blood clots in the brain,
The fear spreads through, colonizing whole.

Misplaced Tones

‘Find what you love and let it kill you’ – Charles Bukowski
Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau
Courtesy : The Mag
Part I
For a second the world ceased to be restless,
Between the agonies of pasts and present
an unlikely image passed by. It was not
his music, but the silver in his strings, 
The ascent of a desirous melody, overflown,
Trapped all hopes, gave them wings, made them flow.
The master weaved his splendor upon the unlikely audience, 
The rains continued to totter, upon the stage built by
heavens and heard by Earth, the music was spread,
Between the moments, both the worlds
united in a rendezvous that lasted
merely a moment, but forever in the art
painted and glorified by the gifts of memory.
Part II
The rains never stopped, but the drops failed to carry
The glory of the master, and the art in his strings,
They fell blankly upon his face, he cherished
the memories, while his strings were going blunt.
The poignant love have crippled, the tones dismembered,
But fate shall forgive, because it were through the strings
his totems tasted cupid, his ideas met reality,
His prowess embarked its spiritual journey,
And for once his ears were filled with applause.

Shades of Velvet

Playing the game of dice is not God’s hobby,
Maybe that is why whilst the shadows slither by
faith hides among the silhouette of a horrid tide.

Maybe Gods are Gods alone, not saviors,
Neither eclectic geniuses who could dismember society,
Nor revolutionaries to transform hate into fragrance of love.

There are reasons to suspect Gods have rented rooms
not between the hymns that our mouths utter,
But between the bright gold and hanging velvets.

For this, I presume the ship that slaved Africans
and the ideas that caged humanity are the same,
Myths are myths alone, always a misused term.

And by this I do not uphold the claim of a God in coffin,
But I pry on the delight that I find myself free,
Both from religion and a disorienting lifestyle.