Severed Forever…

As the sonnet of sunsets
tells the tale of fading light
so the cries of a frailed heart
tells of its tinted droplets

A similitude… A dangling rope
which from a pole hangs
once whole and of man
then cut… So does hope!

The folklores of the taken soul
once of man, then immortality
need not be told of brutality
what’s of the mind had been shown

The wordless flight of a falling feather
which from a bird departs
the likes… A familiar heart
that dies, the severance of our forever!
white-feather-blue-sky

Advertisements

Natural Forces

As the Owls hoot
So the heart speaks
Of a desolate stream
which underneath lies a green foot.

Adored! Is the Olive tree
For its leaves and Silky oil
but once goes into the soil
was its tiny seed

A realm of frozen dreams
wry smiles and gray hope
but along it clings onto a rope
in a to-and-fro motion the heart leaps

A crooked surface which underneath
lies a thing of goodness
for though strings of sadness
seems endless, a being breathe

Like the seed that grows
morning rays shows what should be
got lips of fate’s negativity still
for, a seed doth grow, a thing the heart should know!
maxresdefault

Back to Nature

Wide spread they stand, the Northland dusky forests

Ancient, mysterious, brooding, savage dream

Within them dwells the forest mighty god

And wood-spirits in the gloom weaves magic secrets.

In my household— no worldy infringements

In my solitude — an aboundance of leisure

For too long cooped up in a cage,

I’ve now found my way back to nature!

Of the dying age and a new birth!

We are the music makers
We are the dreamer of dreams
Wondering by lone sea-breakers
and sitting by desolate streams
World-losers and World-forsakers
on whom the pale moon gleams
We are the movers and the shakers
Of the World forever it seems
For each age is a dream that is dying
Or one that is coming to birth!

The Tiny Little Death – A Poem by a dead Poet!

Friends carve a monument
out of dream stone
for the Poet in Alhambra
Over a fountain where the grieving water
shall say forever
”The crime was in Granada, his Granada”

This poem was referring to Federico Garcia Lorca who was assassinated by nationalists near Granada.

The spanish poet and dramatist Federico Garcia Lorca was assassinated by followers in General Fransisco Franco in August 1936, just after the Outbreak of the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939)

Three months after he was killed, Garcia Lorca’s poem ‘Song of the Little Death’ appeared in magazine ‘The Nation’.

In this poem, Garcia Lorca explores death, one of his recurring themes, through the juxtaposition of disparate images.

Song of the Little Death

Mortal lunar meadow
And bloody under the ground
Ancient bloody meadow.

Yesterday,Tomorrow
Mortal grassy heaven
Light and sandy darkness.

There i met with Death
Mortal earthy meadow.
Tiny little death.

The dog on the roof top.
And my lonely left hand
Crossing endless forests
Where the flowers withers.

Cathedral of the ashes.
Light and sandy darkness.
Tiny little death.

Death and I, a man
A man alone with her,
Tiny little death.

Mortal lunar meadow.
The snow heaped high and sifted
Across the very doorway.

A man, and what? I told you,
A man alone with her.
Love,light,and sand, and meadow!

federico-garcia-lorca
Thats Garcia Lorca,
I dont know but did he felt like he was about to die when he wrote that poem?
Maybe, as the time approaches, you get strange dreams and a new feeling, I cant tell! I cant even guess!