Posted in On Love, Poetry

A Lover’s Farewell: Her Word

This poem is a follow-up to “A lover’s Farewell” and is the woman’s reply to her lover bidding her goodbye. Please read “A Lover’s Farewell” before this, if you haven’t already done so.

I see the light catch in your eyes,
Lamp shone of hope where ambition sighs
Restless within, your soul does seek
To fill for good the void bleak

In your heart- A thirst that can’t be quelled
With a woman’s love, or the love you felt
In return for her. I see now why
Togetherness adjourned, you must fly.

For, if you chose behind to stay
More would be left than your dream to fray.
Your zeal, the spark I hold so dear
Would die, and your buoyant spirit fracture.
You, who beauty sees in a world so dark,
Pray, let no fate ever steal that spark.

And if you stayed, score years from now,
When life lived, to old age we do bow,
Regret would poison your review of paths
Trodden, and resent love that touched our hearts.

So I fear! Ergo I chide
Myself, and attempt the pain to hide
In rational thought, and let you go
Gracefully, lest denial makes a show.

Ah, but through my mask you see, of course.
You read my eyes for better or worse.
You know my soul, you know my mind-
Understanding that only love can find.

But brook no guilt, let burn on bright
The rage. And let not cloud your sight
The knowledge that my heart will weep
Without you by my side to keep.

Until Thanatos calls, for you I’ll wait,
For threads so entwined cannot separate
Even when spun with Moirai’s might
Though time will dim youth and beauty’s light.

Go live your dream, go find your place
I’ll hold onto the memory of your face.
This ache I’ll savour; marks a tie so deep,
I know you will come, your word to keep.

Rhyme Scheme: AABB…

Posted in On Love, Poetry

A Lover’s Farewell

Many miles will be between us soon,
Much sand and sea after one more moon.
We, who’re little more than one,
Shall not together see the sun.

I await and dread alike the morrow
The weight of the choice to leave does harrow
Me now, but I don’t regret
This attempt to fly that a dream begets.

Ergo, it’s a dream that takes me from you
Must I then greet the fire with rue?
I cannot! It’s in our nature to want
More than can be had. It does haunt
Me – This need to pursue that which
My heart with stillness will enrich.

Shew selflessness your silence does-
My guilt to flay you hush the buzz
That wreaks havoc, in your mind, of pain.
Your effort does my conscience stain.

For, the unsaid gloom your eyes do speak,
A reprieve, as do mine, they seek
Your face to savour one last time,
Lest I forget the magic when your eyes meet mine.

Dear, no end this is. I pledge that no
Sylph or divine beauty shall sow
The seed of doubt that questions our love-
Beyond Venus, too, who smirks from above.

When that dream’s a dream no more, one day,
Into your heart anew I’ll find my way.
Until then, sometime, spare me a thought,
Grace my love, dearest, forget me not.

Continue reading “A Lover’s Farewell”

Posted in Introspection

Epiphany After a Brown Study

The title “Epiphany After a Brown Study” is erroneous, seeing as I haven’t really had an earth-shaking revelation, and is actually a product of wishful thinking.

I generally tend to ruminate a whole lot, and if no obsession is available for my mind to chew on, I start to get mentally restless, and the feeling that something’s missing- that nagging void in my mind- becomes more pronounced.

I’m typing this not because there has been a dire need for me to do so for a while now, but for the sheer lack of more frivolous and unfruitful activities to occupy me.

The product of my ruminations of the last few days have been slightly disturbing, because, I think, my board examinations are over and I’m not constantly plagued by the notion of having to deal with the interpersonal and interpersonal repercussions that come with faring badly in an important, life determining examination, such as the boards. Anyway, I realize I constantly harbour a feeling of free-floating inadequacy, as if I’m not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Not talented enough. TALENT. This one, in particular, kills me. The fact that I have nary an answer to the question,”what have I to offer to the world?” just flays my mind of any remnants of sunshine that may light up its dark corners.

Alright, alright. I’m being dramatic. But I’m just trying to deal with the fact that I’m an insignificant and unremarkable member of an insipid, primitive, self-destructive and redundant race. My belief in panspermia and advanced extraterrestrial life don’t fail to exacerbate the unpleasant feeling. I am reminded of Douglas Adams, a genius who dealt with the severely under-acknowledged fact of our insignificance so beautifully with the total perspective vortex (hitchhikers guide to the galaxy fans will know what i mean). Having talent, I can’t help feeling, will reduce, or at least temporarily mask this feeling, and grant me an ephemeral sense of self- worth. I seek to have a talent to rid myself of this feeling of being unselved.

I’ve been writing poetry since I was eight and the surreal satisfaction that comes with the rhythmic melancholy of stark and eloquent expression has acted as my spur for almost a decade. Poetry is the one form of catharsis that I regard as being as efficient as the infinitely satisfying process of lacrimation. But of late, I now realize, I have been writing only to sustain a sense of pseudo-satisfaction, one that comes with me feeling that I actually have something to offer through my poetry, something that makes me worthy as an individual, and not a “piece of furniture” as one of my friends put it. This is a sorry reason for me to engage in an activity that was once spurred by only passion and a love for the art.

Why must I deem myself “not good enough” and then bank on writing poetry to rid myself of the feeling? Not only is it an insult to the beautiful art that is writing verse, but it also reflects on my insecurity and the ineffective way in which I have been trying to deal with it.

Hereafter, I promise myself to write just for the joy of writing and not as a means of escape from the feeling of inadequacy.