Related quotes: Your silence is a shrill...

For The Nameless Bard

Your silence is a shrill cry
traversing the alley of edifices
stalled within the shadows
solely painted for your furlough

The epistles that bewilders the night
and the riposte that brawled in back alleys
coiled in an inert cacophony
and the populace remained asleep
without the pall of your sagacity

Soon shall I find your silhouette
a misfit in the familiar places where
you casted a shadow that remained riveted
toppling with the monuments
of your conquered charades
unmaking you a constant unreality

You have waned underneath the moon
and the waxing horn of its harlequinade
along with the asylum of your cavernous heart,
and the tears that ran your metal pipes
no longer croons in the silence of the night

Slowly you are subdued and daubed
by the myriad moths girdled by a lamppost -
A hound barked, a vehicle revved mad,
a drunk man roared, a canary sang,
but your salient, sapient revulsion
remained silent and gone

I lit a cigarette and succumbed to its veil
plotting subterfuges incase
I hear your laconic footsteps return,
your florid lips relearn a song,
and I cajole for the accident to collide
selfishly hungry for your waned light

I starve in oblivion, swallowing daggers
that I incessantly honed whilst
the minutiae yellow quasars spoke
their scintillating whispers to me;
that the war you consigned yourself into
found the key for the adamantine doors
and your laments turned to odes,
your odes morphed into intimate privacy
until you dissipated form the dark nooks
to bask in your separate concord

But I shall remember you
in your superfluity and brazen soliloquy
like an owl behind the gloomy trees -
an indomitable sentry to reckon,
and I shall sing of you without a name
a little degree out of phase
whilst your notes gyrated elsewhere
because your shadows are still made
in these modest places I conquered.

poem by Norman Santos
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Old Lion Man

In this lair I built
all around myself
the tigers lost their hunger
and lions slept like coals
without a flicker of flame

There were footsteps
lambent and poetic.
How can one find me
ballasting a violent nothingness
in the void of this cellar
where the prison is the warden?

Perhaps the spigot
made the saline water
sing enigmatically
into the harried pipes
of gelid gold and brass

As the dawn morphs to dusk
I saw you, calculating steps
like insurmountable avalanches
to catch the iron shackles
on my aching legs
You found me amidst
the chalky light and air
of my cobwebbed heart

You found the Braille
on my terse paw prints
and read the laments
of ludicrous misshape
like no one else did
and for a stolen moment -
while the aeons became bubbles,
the breeze sang violins,
the sleeping cars dreamt of revving;
several degrees out of phase
I saw myself in you

Like sleeping mirrors
we awaken into the terror
as we look into each other
and exchanged livid lights
and lucidly formless hopes

But the glass is shattered
and the bones dangled
like an inebriated pendulum
tautly vertical in
pleading for you again
to pillage my time
and percolate the many stains
of the unwoven tassels
on my parsimonious tapestry

The spuriously ratcheting flames
on the wick of our charades
wept like candles
but the tears will not
sing its weathervane song
burned generously
like toppling bridges

Where are you now?
So distant from the heraldry
not even your hair
comes to my waning graze
but in this lair, the shadows
remained riveted on the walls
and this telescope is inverted
I am the only one plummeting away
into the gates of exodus

Like a caged beast sleuthing
the pollens of yellow daffodils
I lost my virulence for hunger
in this malignant dream

Unbreak my cage if
I can no longer be tamed,
my fastidious heart is frail
my fastidious heart shall fail
so crucify me now
before I become
a lion or a man alone
if I am a lion man at all.

poem by Norman Santos
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Suitcases

I reckon in vivid pangs
like a salient entropy,
the pedagogy gnawing
in the sorry eyes
and the train arrives
confronting me with
my failures and losses

The first of the months
the weakening sanctum,
the constant rumination,
how we've been each other's asylum
now the suitcase's lock is defunct
and it is all spilling out -
I cannot hold it back

The arch your spine made
as you lower your head
on ponderous nimbuses
I was always at your back
but you never looked back
as your klutz feet escapes
from your past, your present

My sinewy hands percolating
amongst the fumbling words
your nimble silence still
knows how to decipher it all
and this belying gold
underneath the mud and stones
reminds me that we are
made of the same dreams and bones

And you, your hands behind the sun
I remember it like my own
the ashen pallor unmasked
by the summer's penumbra
How they tread what we all fear
stroking palettes, caressing words
you are a furtive cavalcade

I remember you hands
like how I remember your smile,
there were blue rivulets in them,
the tips are naked crimson
reaching past the mirage
but didn't cast a shadow

Like the bony moon transpiring
between day and night light
you reconnoiter my abysses -
a gilded debauchery
tarrying the train's clockwork oars
because the suitcase remained
broken, opened, larcenously swallowing.

poem by Norman Santos
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Wall Engulfed By Shy Flowers

There is a rendezvous with flamboyance -
a stillness gilded by the peace of detachment
as tacit as the uncurling of moonflowers
when the night sprawls on her divan
and raises her goblet to the distant stars -
and he alone, in his howling dungeons, can
usurp the esoteric grandiosity in malcontent

Everything is intimate and close
in the sterile skin of your vulnerability -
the drifting autumn wind, the lifted eyelids,
the dancing lips, the glaring waltzing feet
But in your soliloquy - unraveling threads
that strangulates your recuperating breaths,
your swallowed words raving in the dark
fanning the embers of your glassy heart
the spurious tides of the oceans crash
into a lull amidst your redundant tremors
and everything sink into the unfathomable

There is an agog pleasure basking in
the immensity of monastic pendulums, whilst
the world gyrated in blurs and drifting lights
where the perfume of bliss passes above
the stagnant wind sculling our little breaths
the montage reels in the infinitesimal gilts
elsewhere held from the malingerers

There is an effulgent hymn immersed deep
in the cacophony of the world's manifold rhythms
like cathedral bells trembling from the hollows
that echoed through the gold insularity,
like a siren scintillating in the furnace of the sea
a charade, a riddle, born by loquacious maladies

When the pastels are pillaged to a halt,
when the only judge is the frost and fog,
when solace is the thief of the endless night,
he indulges into a dance and a song -
A fire burns underneath his sole and
a lilt titillates from his lifted susurrations
and reticence was eroding with the embers
whilst loneliness burns like red roses
and the web of bridges suspended above

The clockwork salutes fell unbeknownst
into a bottomless ocean of rigmaroles unto
the fusillade of your silence - a salient armada,
a sentry amidst the collapsing of confusion,
a terse bridge that burns with inner caliginosity,
a bulwark adamant wall that makes no echoes,
a flower awakening in the oppression of sleep;
Because your bland insinuation is more colossal
than the petulant beauty of many garden larcenies

The reticence you wore like paper petals are frail
vanguards that hones your puissant indifference -
Play along the farce, come soundless like a thief,
lean on your citadels, dance with the shadows
riveted on your walls and cringe only to intensify
the grandiosity of your gray shabby heavens;
Wallflower, sing. Wallflower, dance,
Wallflower, cringe. Wallflower writhe.

poem by Norman Santos
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Shadows

Shadows, transparent grey,
ask me about themselves,
I only know that when they exist, I exist
I too am the shadow of my own self,

How many times I have tried!
to follow you,
You kept disappearing with each step,
and then at a certain step, a certain moment,
only you remained, my shadow!

Only then I realized, my shadow, my friend
that since the beginning
only you had existed

While, In vain, like a lost child
I kept following only shadows,

It was then,
that i realized that all my life
I have been following only shadows.

They took me to certain corners, certain dark places,
and deserted streets!

Until I found myself,
I was the discoverer of my self,
I discovered that I myself was a shadow
lost among the people.

poem by Sarang Mangi
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Plethora Of Flowers

The wind wiped mellifluously
The pollen in her vivid face
And the memory remained
In a garden of collectives
Where everything bloomed
And sank all the same, hastily
Blue as a dream, red in the evening
Bowing with the petals and their skirts
Resembling the machinism of the gears
Pushing each other and manipulating
Time's lullabies and elegies
Her statuesque silhouette stood
Crooning a limn for the breeze
That spades the buried garden

Trains will pass with faces
Pasted in the window pane
Chasing the carriage of their dreams
And running from the hearse darting
Against the winnowed sailing through
The vacuous grounds of oblivion, whilst
You scull inside my chest, rocking
Me to a perpetual sleep, and slowly
Becoming the motion that ferries me
To anywhere but here, in the ubiquity
Tangled in your sequins and niceties
From the garden, you are plucked
Tucked in the breast pockets
And your thorns riveted deeper
Than any paramour had ever gone

Swoon over me and find yourself aloft
Throned in the lips of my pits
And the enigma of your vibrant hues,
Your emollient redolence, and the spell
Caroming in the crowns of your petals
Would wake my sedative bliss with pain
And perhaps eternal ardor in ethereal places

For now, I shall wait and hum your song
Hiding in clandestine places and salient stones
Of graveyard sifting in mirth and luster
Amidst a plethora of flowers, plucked and not
Possessing and debauching passersby's hearts.

poem by Norman Santos
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 07

Two Khorasani dervishes travelled together. One of them, being weak, broke his fast every second night whilst the other who was strong consumed every day three meals. It happened that they were captured at the gate of a town on suspicion of being spies; whereon each of them was confined in a closet and the aperture of it walled up with mud bricks. After two weeks it became known that they were guiltless. Accordingly the doors were opened and the strong man was found to be dead whilst the weak fellow had remained alive. The people were astonished but a sage averred that the contrary would have been astonishing because one of them having been voracious possessed no strength to suffer hunger and perished whilst the other who was abstemious merely persevered in his habit and remained safe.

When eating little has become the nature of a man
He takes it easy when a calamity befalls him
But when the body becomes strong in affluence
He will die when a hardship overtakes him.

poem by Sa di
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Dark night...

So dark is the night by choice
Silenced of humorous voice,
So lonely is the night of charms
Devoid of a lover's warm arms.

Dark shadows rising upward bound
Above me from the silent ground
Destroying my inner secret dreams
Waking to the sounds of inner screams

Dark shadows rising here to stay
Even after they're casted away
They come back with violence
At the depth of dead silence

Dark shadows rising unkind
causing chaos across my mind
I cant stand, my painful cries
As the dark night arrives

Dark shadows rising knocking me flat
Paralysing me purposefully so that
I can't move and nobody cares
The dark night blindly stares

Dark shadows dying away to fly
Over the dark coloured sky
No more shadows flying around
Remembering my dreams abound

As the heavenly glowing stars swoon
Circling around the glittering moon
Radiating above in the sky like mothers
Amongst the ashen white, I saw serenity's colours

poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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Shadows Fall

Shadows had been casted way back when, but the light will be there till the end
Misery is not in sight, for the future brings a stronger light
The light of thee and the light of thou, skeptics question why...what....how

It's the fuel that drives this flame, nothing but love no one to blame
Friendship at hand and at the side, only the bad man will run and hide
Times our tough and rough this is true, no more pain in the rain that's all but blue

This light will blind you if unaware, casting that shadow how you dare
Shadows weaken as the light is glowing, one more light has joined see 'em growing
Those in the dark and in self tormoil, may only find their peace in earth's soil

Sad to say that not all is well, shadows casted by the one's that live in hell
Shadows weaken day by day, the light grows stonger truth in what I say
The chains that bind will be unbound, back in your hell play with the hound

Blame this soul or that one too, shadows will fall how so true
It started a long time ago, nothing can be done except see it grow

poem by Dave Shemeley
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On A Cold Night

The night was cold
and the streets rolled out
like endless corridors
stretching onwards
street lights broke shadows
at regular intervals
while the end of the path
remained just beyond sight
the sky clear, star lit
a half moon visible
while the frost took hold
amid the dimming light
and silence made noises
enough to play the mind
to the cold of the night
during a walk home

poem by Matthew Holloway
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Hungry Moon (Ghazal)

It slowly creeps across the sky prowling for escapades, that hungry moon.
Darling, come with me, flirt with the night, I’ll protect you from that hungry moon.

We’ll dance the habanera and let it have its way with us all the night.
Then we’ll slip into the darkness under the shadow of that hungry moon.

With the conversation of the dance we’ll outshout cries from that hungry moon.
Together we’ll evade the ever-watching eyes of evry hungry moon.

We’ll outrun the loneliness that has stalked us throughout the slow-turning day.
A long day awaited, gobbled up during the night by a hungry moon.

We’ll look into the dream-lit stars until we’re dizzy, remember this night.
We’ll head for the shadows where it is darkest, away from the hungry moon.

With the swooping and snatching of an owl as it seizes its frozen prey,
I will not leave you in the shadows of the night or prey to that hungry moon.

Like a yelping dog, with the name of Ben, we’ll be racing across the ridge.
Encircled in my arms I’ll protect you then from that ever-hungry moon.

- April 4, ’08
Pulbished by The Ghazal Page online
Go to: www.ghazalpage.net/2008/moon_challenge/2008_moon_ radif.html

poem by Ben Gieske
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