My House Was Not There
when the walls came down
and it was someone else for whom
the wind in windmills moved
and when the cyclone grew beyond the waters
to suck in deep within those maddened drops
my house had already been ruined in my heart
my doors had already been shut
my windows had already been closed
they opened in the sky
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Openness In Prayer
the walls of the
house are thick
and high
the windows are
closed
and so are the
doors
the roof is taken
away
for you to see
the sky the stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Openness
a house without doors
and windows
walls and beams
entertaining some other
somber possibilities
the wind takes shape
the fluid runs and drips on the
four corners
the sun moves up and down
until the correct idea of what
a house
gets in
who once said that only
from the heart can
one really touch the sky?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No reaches
The heart approaches joy
But never reaches it.
The heart approaches women
But never reaches them.
Women keep their windows open
With doors always shut.
They will shut their windows too
As rainbows in me turn white.
Then I’ll house them in my inn
That I have built in my brain.
14.10.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In This House
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the windows
in this house
where you've been
what you've seen
were the doors
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was your food
in this house
where you've sat
what you ate
was the word
in this house
where you stood
what you could
something say
in this house
you could open
windows doors clapping wings
in this house
you could open
soul that heaven upward sings
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Walls
Everyone around me
Looked equally strange
Some laughed
Some cried
Some remained indifferent
To me everyone
Is the same—
Strangers! .
Each built around me
A wall of one’s choice
Love indifference shame
I grew up
I sat
I slept
I played
I moved
All within those walls
Destiny went on
Gnawing at me
I grew up
I raved to look
Beyond those walls
In vain!
How these walls
Built silently
Without brick or cement
Shut me to myself!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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As Said
As said I have opened
All my doors and windows
Lions snakes birds
Air rain all allowed
To come and go.
I am impartial
I am transparent
I am judicious
I salute the truth
I salute the beauty
And pious.
As said I have opened
All my doors and windows.
I catch true words
That is there
Within the seven colors
Within the rainbow
Within the life
That is going and going
Like Times honest arrow.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Shut Eyes Stare
Behind the walls shut eyes stare.
Closed to imagination...
And opened to self depreciation!
Stopped and blocked,
By frustrations accepted!
Fearing disapproval,
But receiving rejection inspected.
And protecting it as if it belongs!
Behind the walls shut eyes stare.
Uncaring the glare reflected is wrong!
There to drain remaining all day long.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hidden Drive
there's a dirty house that's falling apart
some want to fix it but they don't know where to start
there's cobwebs and cracks in the walls
this is where rain's relief dares not to fall
no one really cares to help this place
they just look at the face
this old house is kept inside
with a disguising shell to hide
something i noticed as i passed by
at the house where hope will die
the windows were clean and new
though everywhere else the weeds grew
the windows had such an allure
i couldn't take it anymore
i gazed at the windows in awe
then through them i saw
the messy, run-down house inside
where beauty died
then i realized
something about eyes
eyes are the windows
clean and lovely for show
but behind them is the soul
sometimes your eyes will fool
the beauty and shine will not last
for one day, someone will see past.
poem by Alex Manson
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Doors Opened And Closed
Our God can open any door, making things better than before,
That last place in which He chose, to permit that door to close.
He takes us on a chosen path, through that uncertain aftermath,
Working out all for our good, doing for us what we never could.
Nothing can hinder God at all, no matter how big, or how small,
He, who moves the heart of a king, is not hindered by anything.
God always works in His time, a schedule that is so unlike mine,
As God deals with me faithfully, I need to wait on God patiently.
Seeing no doors opened now, I must not question why or how?
As all doors still seem closed, to see what is not yet disclosed,
When I do not understand, knowing His heart, I see God’s hand.
As it may be a time for me to wait, while God’s help I anticipate.
Some doors are closed to stay, and inaccessible to our dismay,
Forced out of a comfort zone, but, we’re not forced to go alone,
Moved by God’s plan instead, guided by Grace, to move ahead,
And in His Grace, strength we find, to leave familiar ways behind.
Whether doors are closed or left ajar, in your earthly life thus far,
God will always open one for us, when in Him we place our trust,
And believers need not to despair, as our Lord shall always care,
For each one of us until we see, the Glorious Door up in Eternity.
(Copyright ©09/2009)
The Settling Fog
“Save, save, save me from the brutal hands, ”
The cries emerged early in the foggy morn,
In the month of December in frosty cold.
Then a volley of bullets was fired,
The cries instantly became silent;
The neighboring windows, the doors opened,
They seemed like black holes in the thick fog;
The lookers’ images appeared like phantoms,
Then smelling stinking smell of the foul game,
They shut tight the windows, the doors,
No one came to rescue the victimized being,
For the fog was settling before the sun rose.
poem by Shahida Latif
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Solitude Souls
The blacktop road is shining smooth
Empty trash bins mocking the truth
Grown up trees remain in mute
Golden leaves look so cute
Wind works-out on closed windows
Sky chats with the shut doors
Clouds tease with Concrete groves
Majestic houses on all the floors
Locked inside the concrete walls
Comforts, Cash and zombie hearts?
As far as my eye could see
My street is totally empty!
I search with frenzy
If my shadow is with me..
A distant twilight's mockery
'Solitude Souls live here free
Like those in a cemetry! '
poem by TheBigThinkg Human
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You Are Not On That Road
There is no where to rebuild
Those shadows of weaknesses,
Behind doors closed.
No cracked and opened windows,
To overhear gossiped...
Or rehashed innuendos!
We live in these moments.
Now!
There is a clearing of hidden remorse,
And guilt.
Declare nothing meant to burden your load.
Give that back to the ones...
Who lived with masks,
And tasks that were shallow.
Those waters are no longer yours to tread!
Nor does a tear needs from you to be shed.
When you realize it is time to be distanced,
From someone...anyone!
Who in the past offered you resistance.
Ask these two questions...
And insist upon a response!
'How far is the lightening bolt from the ground,
Before it strikes? '
And...
'How far does a raindropp fall from a cloud? '
If they do not know...
You tell them,
You wish to have that space and more,
Between you and their nonsense.
There are Sun rays appearing on your path!
You are not on that road,
To be reminded of bad weather!
You tell them,
To remove themselves from your light!
And let them prove to you they can do it.
On your journey,
You are not seeking the company...
Of hitchhikers!
And let that be known.
There is no where to rebuild
Those shadows of weaknesses,
Behind doors closed.
And no where...
Are you to seek,
Substitutes to please!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why Am I Needing This?
I am not those dark days lived.
To perform an existing within shadows.
I am not,
One who sits comfortably...
Fixed to fears,
Of my own image appearing...
On walls that I visit forelorned.
I can not accept a misery imposed upon me.
I can not accept...
My own reflection hinting with signs of neglect.
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I am the light that brightly shines...
Beyond closed and locked doors,
My mind has been convinced...
I'm needing more to restrict my addictions.
I'm needing more of this...
To keep and explore!
'I am not those dark days lived',
I say.
'I am not that one existing,
Within the restriction of shadows.'
I am the light that brightly shines...
On the other side of closed windows.
I live beyond closed and locked doors!
And yet I am a victim,
Of my own self inflicting addictions.
Why am I needing this...
To keep adventured and explored?
'Why am I needing this?
Why from it I just can't quit? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At Night With The Rain
i have closed the doors
and the windows
and let go the curtains
touching the floors
i close my eyes and listen
to the rain
i dream of stars
i miss the moon
the walls close on in me
beyond the glass windows
to the sea
i hear the sad calls of the
night
outside the trees are blown
the black cat stares at me
and then some tears
begin to fall
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wistfully Watching
They explore the world
through windows,
church windows,
school windows,
two up, two down windows,
castle windows,
large windows,
small windows.
They see it all,
from blameless to guilty,
from noble to treacherous,
through windows.
From skyscraper windows,
to basement flat windows,
from paupers windows,
and palace windows
they watch, absorb, suck it in.
Later when they have grown
they will remember,
try to empathise,
rationalise
decipher the coded metaphors,
but some day
they will be demoralised
by the windows of life.
There they sit __ wistfully watching __
the children
of our times.
poem by Ruth Walters
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She's Not My Girlfriend
Her heart is in my hand
It shivers like a toad
She tries to understand the
Tiny lump that's down inside her throat
It goes
Suck suck
Suck suck
Suck suck
Her head is in my lap
It twists and coughs and sings
Her hair is in my grasp
It hangs and swings like swollen strings
It goes
Suck suck
Suck suck
Suck suck
Her face is inside out
An open book report
I read what she's about
And she's filled with words that hurt
It goes
Suck suck
Suck suck
Suck suck
Sometimes I want her in
Sometimes I want her out
My perception of sin
Is filled with pain and fear and doubt
She she she she, she isn't my girlfriend
No no, I'm not who you think I am
She she, she isn't my girlfriend
No no, I'm not who you think I am
Her clothes are on the ground
A crumpled rainbow mass
She's scattered all around
And she's scattered now like broken glass
It goes
Suck suck
Suck suck
Suck suck
Sometimes I want her in
Sometimes I want her out
My perception of sin
Is filled with pain and fear and doubt
She she she she, she isn't my girlfriend
No no, I'm not who you think I am
She she, she isn't my girlfriend
No no, I'm not who you think I am
She she, she isn't my girlfriend
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That house in Brackenfell
That house in Brackenfell
had new furniture,
a wine red Kameel lounge suite,
a solid wood dining room table,
a big queen size bed with drawers,
a brand new washing machine,
a white Kelvinator stove and refrigerator.
I worked on an old display case there
stripping varnish, rubbing it
with sandpaper and gluing
it together again
into which your mother
put some mirrors at the back
and we gave it to her.
I planted flowers and shrubs
in that small garden
and watered them
and we lived there
in our first dwelling
for just a few months
driving to work
at Tygerberg hospital and back.
Your folks went away on holiday
and we had to look after
the Pomeranian
and you twisted
that orange-brown Wollie’s member
when he lifted his leg
against the lounge suite
and the poor thing
had to go to the vet
to get over its shock.
Everything went really swell
till one night
that you used the bath
and were naked in it
with all the taps closed
when the walls
started to knock
with a sturdy sound
expected on the front door.
At first you didn’t understand
what was happening
but when you realized
you gave a great scream,
and went to the bedroom
to dress.
Later I found out
that students had played
glass-glass with an ouija board
in that house
and had invited some spirits in.
When the lights
started to go on and off
and doors opened and closed
on their own
you had it with the witchery
and with that house
and moved to your parents
huge villa a little way off.
I at first stayed and prayed
and opened the bible
and told the spirits to be gone
and so they did
but you didn’t believe it
and never set your foot
in that place again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The House In The Middle Of A War Field
There was a house in the middle of a war field,
A conspicuous little dot on the vast patch of land.
And many beasts fought bloody wars around it,
Yet the house unperturbed, remained rooted to the sand.
All doors and windows of this house had been shut for aeons,
Some people lived inside away from the truth, so abominable.
They lived there guarded, sometimes pretended to not hear the cries,
Ignorance being the prime weapon in their arsenal.
One day a curious young girl in the house said something rather strange,
She wanted to see the world outside, she wanted to be freed.
Everyone disagreed, they said its too dangerous and she will perish.
But she didn't fear death, she despised the creed.
It took her decades to convince the others, and after a lot of coaxing they agreed.
Their hollowed souls were tired of simply existing, to them even death seemed like an adventure.
And so for the first time, the rusty doors of the house had opened,
The sun rays heralded a moment of enlightenment.
As the girl with the others took their first step outside,
The grains under their feet felt like acupuncture.
The armed men outside stood transfixed,
Seeing a sight they'd never witnessed before.
As for years they had brooded over the question,
That what lay behind that door.
With a heavenly voice said the girl to the soldiers,
Inside the house you will find the greatest treasures this world has seen.
The men at once dropped their weapons and ran inside the house,
The house now seemed to have lost its sheen.
As the last greedy soldier made his way inside,
The door closed behind him to never open again.
The entire house crumpled beneath its own weight,
Killing each one who entered in vain.
The people were saved all because of the girl,
Her legacy continued and they gave her a name.
Because since that day the dogmatic principles of faith,
Had been definitely put to shame.
poem by SaviorsLavish Human
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Compulsion 5
it is there
it goes out
you want to hide it in your palm
in your clenched fist
it escapes
as perfume
as smoke
from the chimney
of the house
whose windows and doors you have closed
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Windows
Windows open vistas for us
Windows - of hearts, of minds or of eyes
Windows - which might open outward
Or inward
They bring the light on the other end to this end.
Windows converse
They open the alphabetical locks of our lips
When night weaves nets of darkness on windows
Life-spans speak out in whispers from abysses of pain
Windows then perforce remain silent
Suffer days of tongue-tied laws
Nights of oppression
And epochs of tyranny
Windows are self same stories of dreams
Of centuries
Mute testimony of chasms
Court yards and ruined houses
Evidence of rusted eons rattling with exhaustion
in tyrant time's primordium continuity
Windows have the heart of a woman
They open their body's wings of each clime
With a little waft of wind
With fragrance, sunlight, rain or moon beams.
They blow away paper-light images
And waste away life in uncharted desires.
When butterflies fly in front of windows
Eyes glued to window panes become tearful
With noontide memories.
Evenings look forward to a wayfarer passing by
When they're covered with climbers
holding forth red and white flowers
They fill closed fists with the touch of fire-flies.
Windows often insist on being kept open
They're surprised to watch cloud, birds
And the blue sky's expanse
If they're kept shut
They're afraid of the life breath of
Walls and rooms getting strangulated.
They're afraid of dwellers forsaking their houses
They also feel life's desertion
They also feel despondent
Windows are human beings!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Satyapal Anand.
Copyrights (C) All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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