| A
Rose-bud-poem
This be your lights and let
me extract their essence
Into this music that I would like to master together
Let me be the wind of hanging Babylon and leave
Something bigger than the maps or the marks that
Divide the papers as though
they are the skin of real
Thriving Earth! Oh Earth! The beatings of your heart
That no one sees or sings yet my heart is in symphony
With your beatings and notes gather in unison in me
That I cannot but write in
each breath I inhale through
My tiniest of efforts smallest of steps and largest of
Praise that I can fathom out of my thoughts' expanse
Here I leave this: the earth a rose-bud-poem for you
We have no note to
sing
This overwhelming magic of
lights and dark
Fresh floods of wonders in dances of springs
Keep me spellbound and I never manage to
Grow old or anything other than bewitched
And they say: What's wrong!
What's wrong!
Something must be wrong in you! Something
Must have been screwed up with a high force
Or must be causing your delayed rise up. Wise
Up little man and must you
catch up with the
Great fall that we've all successfully soiled up
We've all grown up and moved onto grounds
Already death-kissed and dried, dusty, dusted
Why have not you yet crossed
the land of living
And joined us in the graveyard: why haven't you
Yet risen to the tidy task and still tirelessly boring
Every breathing heart with this fuss to sing your
Notes. Come, join this
expired signified dead
Lot of us and sing a song of note-less null-voids
Dark: just whinge, wane, doze, strut and howl
Must you sometime wake, rise up and sing death
Like us for there is a
comfort in expanding death
Like this and enjoy a living state of his extra touch
It is lot less heavy than carrying all this euphoria
We are surely soaked by our wait for longer death
Lights' Metaphor
How does this expand into our layered self?
When we say hard as a hyena's teeth what
Do we understand of this hardness? What
Does this do? How does this map out lights?
This that supports our
understanding's base
Which is pointing towards two directions
As though a traffic sign showing contra-flow
How does this work? How do we fathom it?
Yet we do and in truth we
cannot function
Without this when I say you bring me this
That does not exist but the lights of my eyes
Where you write emblem of peace and heat
How would we function without
these fragile
Floundering links so weak in strength like
Coral reef or the softest of skin of a newborn
Yet they are the steel of the truth that shines
We cannot grow or be or even
true to what
We are without these: like this or that or so
And so because I will have to say: this being,
This women: she smiles lights' metaphor
Which makes sense to me and
to her and
To you at the same time adding some salt
And soft touches of some form of lights
Curving the truth out like heat curves ice
To Read
the Following Poems Follow the Links
The
Inner Phantom
I
Search for the Myth of Life
Like
a Blown Kiss
Rainbow
Lady
East
Grinstead
Epyllion
Circularity
of Our Understanding
Playing
I do with Words
I’m
no Macbeth
The
Straight Line Theory
Keep
Falling Starlike
Slaves
of None
Through
the Window
In
the End
Theory
of Spin
A
House of Clouds in the Sky
The
Bud Dramatics
Sizzling
To
Read More of Munayem Mayenin's Poetry
|
A
Temple for His Music
Midnight Paris Metro carries
the night
Within its double-decker breast busily
Shooting through the tunnel's pathways
Busy and sleepy people running rustling
Like wind blown leaves all
fathomed in
In we go and out we come rush rolling
And there he was serenading the dusty
Air filled with floating footsteps playing
His Chinese musical organ
some sort of
Violin sitting on a stool in front of his open
Hat gathering proceeds of people's pity
He plays closing his eyes and the music
Flows out rising upward like
an invisible
Vine swinging in the free air of his mind
A poignant tune sad and deeply piercing
He plays and does not look in case his hat
Looks at him with the eyes of
the coins
Reminding him he will have to come down
And count his fragmented printed notes
In silver and paper all polished porcupine
He carries on playing through
and through
Ignoring the space and place where he was
Rooted: unwelcome harshed and fabricated
Oh! How I felt the need to kick that hat off
And plant a temple for his
music to fall down
On and find a seat a home and there he is
At peace, happy, playing and would not
Need to close his eyes to stop seeing that hat
Neuley Pleasance
The first French phrase I
fell in love with
Neuley Pleasance in full moon silver glows
Slight showers drizzling the midnight hour
Subdued silence holding a vigil in lunar kisses
Through the train window's
aqua paint
Outside awash with a song of silver lights
She spoke anew and beauty born in soft
And gentle a musical opening a welcome
Neuley Pleasance where there
was a state
Of mind that I held within suddenly came
Right in front of me: two notes mingling
She sang in midnight hour with the moon
The butterfly
The red mug candle radiated
beneath the flickering lights
The flame flickered in the
waves of housed wind
Glowing warmth and lights lifted the darkness out of the table
The liquid wax mirrored the
flame
Extending reality to its double
Where the flame's image flickered with the source
Now the flames stood facing
up
Flickering
Creating a beautiful butterfly fluttering
One wing in real and the other unreal
Joining together in propelling a butterfly
Into existence
And the housed wind weaves life into it
The candle butterfly now
lives
And flutters in the housed wind
Gently it plays
In the areal garden that stays silent and watches
Landscape of the Song
That may be too ambitious a
thing to aim for
To build a home in the landscape of a song?
Or have a dance plucked from
the sparkles
Of your eyes where its choreograph flashes
Or may be it isn't so bad
that we do have these
These unreal unusable gold just to remind us
That we are still attempting
to unfold a living
That checks us in the end: the striving to mark
Or may be it is the only
gold-the only sun
The expanse of the landscape of the song
To Read
the Following Poems Follow the Links
The
Inner Phantom
I
Search for the Myth of Life
Like
a Blown Kiss
Rainbow
Lady
East
Grinstead
Epyllion
Circularity
of Our Understanding
Playing
I do with Words
I’m
no Macbeth
The
Straight Line Theory
Keep
Falling Starlike
Slaves
of None
Through
the Window
In
the End
Theory
of Spin
A
House of Clouds in the Sky
The
Bud Dramatics
Sizzling
To
Read More of Munayem Mayenin's Poetry
|