Free Verse
You’re
You're a fool
incapable of
fiddling with foolishness
having scripted the skill
of staying soundless
even when ripples rise and roll
on your shores,
you can stay mute as a dodo
and within my echo less ears
when I want to hear your
voice
you're the breathless babbler
assimilating an auditory discourse
of optimistic oxymorons
or a series of letters addressed
as an instruction or exchange,
within many february's
I've watched you grow
my man child,
seeing you diligently
design your dialogue
and with your crapulous correction
saddling in
your sea of troubles
sharing your slices of stakes with me
staging a spectacle if I dare to say a no
wearing your shoes I've seen you walk
on the meridian of the mushroom
a face so fair, in deed and discourse.
Clutter
A
funnel of face wash
and bisected bottles
of balms and butter.
Within crabbed cellophane
and an old book, half read
torn into tales.
Between those lies a protocol
unfinished and undone
and theories of velocity
in motion not gaining
momentum.
What a mess, life has become
a rigid ritual put down as a
pact on paper
between a thousand threads
trailing along time and the
Almighty.
We are nothing more than
those containers and cartons,
waiting to be cast away like
clutter
into a casket
christened in our name.
Widow
In the dark of the night
she gapes into the certificate
illuminated by a fainting candle
prefixed with a late mister
leading the name of the man
she had bonded with
a holy knot.
The spaces in her fingers
once held the seasons
the fountains of youth
and the remembrances of
bleeding roses
what now remains is the stimuli
of his defunct dust.
His grave is her abode
and his death her dress
black and white
with the moon as her tranquilizer
into which she inscribes
his colourless countenance.
She is nothing but a tree of torment
her progeny are the skeletons of sorrow
she pulls out of her closet
and there she lives
under the stoic shadow
of someone who made her whole
once upon a time.
Cinquain
The Guy
with the Spectacles
read those
blinkers on his
orbs scrutinizing signs
for regards in rife reflection
his specs.
Villanelle
From
Pharmacy to Parchment
I never thought I'd live to
see the day
ply through the peril and pinch the plight
gleaming in the glint of gold and grey.
The burden of the brunt I chose to betray
shining in the smudge of my mildew light
I never thought I'd live to see the day.
As a phoenix I reeked and fell prey
to faithless forgery black and white
gleaming in the glint of gold and grey.
An August moon lives in present today
wasting the winter wanderer’s veil so bright
I never thought I'd live to see the day.
From pharmacy to parchment I'd plod in play
the draft of my destiny I could rewrite
gleaming in the glint of gold and grey.
The corals of my crown are cupped in my clay
restoring the roundels of my lost sight
I never thought I'd live to see the day
gleaming in the glint of gold and grey.
About
Rinzu Rajan, IN
