Sunday, July 19, 2015

Swills of Illumination

Teetering piles of books, torn, yellowed pages scrawled
with the elaborate artwork of boredom
 in swirls and billows in congested margins
whose content treasures a wealth of knowledge,
amassed by the brightest minds, generously served
to the benighted, in deep saucers
whose ingredients rise above the rim as eddying mist,
striking against the darkness of ignorance
in countless strands

Forcefully compressed into a compact sphere,
meant to be forced, rather than absorbed, 
into the students' mind, seated obediently-
unseeing, drooping with the occasional nod,
weighed down by the cement bricks of pressure,
a lead orb upon their spirits, their abilities,
encouraging the forcing with a vehemently opposing soul,
with the image of golden bouquets delightfully meted out
by anyone but their nonexistent thirst to learn,
whilst seated in their provincial classroom

A glittering sun, an azure sky, swaying blades of grass,
at a safe distance from the crushing claustrophobia
of a tight enclosure of four walls, lines of desks,
insecurities emerging from peers and adults
Once away, away from pain, undue tension,
free to roam, to question, without the terrifying dread
of ridicule hanging about like a pouncing devil,
free to inhale spirals of beauty, in the form
of independence- to be oneself, to question,
to annihilate the shackles of inhibition,
and to simply, greedily imbibe the joys of education
amassed by the brightest minds, generously served
to the benighted, in deep saucers,
where our duty is to swill the scalding contents,
sip cautiously, prior to assimilating it all,
in desirous downpours, as solace from the unending darkness
of ignorance 

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Will-o'-the-wisp










(Picture taken from emerald-depths.deviantart.com)

Hovering gently, iridescent, sapphire blue,
mere inches above the stagnant quagmire
courtesy of the torrential rains
that shattered against the parched land,
its magic emanating in glowing strands

Chanting eerily, its melodies hypnotic,
painfully soothing to a wanderer astray,
luring her from her predetermined course
to the skeletal trees, the towering dark,
while it served as her sole, illuminating spark

Drifting softly, gliding in a sinister,
spectral dance, pirouetting over the darkening morass,
twirling as it led the wanderer toward
its abode, sending her mind spinning, lost,
at the hands of the unearthly entity she had crossed

Whispering uncannily, its voice resembling velvet
crooning advice into her ear, in silvery tendrils
of otherworldly wisdom, yet lacking in enlightened words,
taking her pale, shivering hand, it managed to hold
her soul in its, utterly beyond her control

Halting abruptly, a startling standstill, flourishing
its feathery arms of snow-like mist before the wanderer
who, in a daze, let her eyes fall upon the smothering darkness
miles from her home; searching vainly for the glimmering spark,
oblivious to the fact it had melted in the dark

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Natives of the Sky

Her saline tears cascaded
in an inexorable, pelting downpour
that fell from the elusive heavens
that lay beyond the darkened skies-
a celestial symbol of her woe
that found meager respite in the cathartic release
that swamped the parched land, the desiccated soil,
the sorrowfully keeling violet blossoms,
ridding the earthlings of the stigma of hopelessness,
of misery, which had rendered them unable
to produce the saltiness of tears
Her grief was their joy, her pain their pleasure,
with their pale countenances facing the gunmetal grey skies,
a crescent of merriment plastered across, eliciting wonder-
as though they had forgotten the precious art of smiling
As she freed her sorrow in sobbing convulsions,
as thunder resonated across the dimming sky,
as her shivering arms lapped against the encircling clouds,
producing heat, shards of blinding, glittering light
that induced cries of merriment from the crowd below
who leaped about in pirouettes,
basking in the welcome interlude
from the sweltering heat, in the form of
the mangled, distraught emotions
of the residents of the heavens,
whose happiness and well-being created drought,
whose sadness created the pleasure of rain,
and whose despairing agony fashioned the devastating
annihilation of a forthcoming flood

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Floral Denizens


With angles jagged, bits of ceramic protrusions
starkly contrasting with the linoleum floor,
its remnants scattered confusedly about,
mingled with shards of shining glass
that reflect the sunlight as it glares
down, its golden force enough
to unsettle an immovable 
object, for isn't the sun
an irresistible force?
Having settled on
the mantelpiece,
for years on end,
housing the flowers
that had woefully keeled
due to the harsh sun that refused
to reduce the passion with which it burned,
due to the sorry paucity of sustenance, of respite
from stifling days whose ardor never cooled, due to an 
unfathomable weakness that had never existed before, did
the flowers drop from the pride of an incomparable beauty, to
the misery of loneliness, whose only comfort was the lone ceramic
vase whose cracks widened with each elapsing hour, courtesy of the
overwhelming heat, whose ardor never deigned to cool, whose rays
forced grace to stoop to inelegance, which compelled the formerly
vibrant stalks to yellow and crumble, also obliging the once purple
petals to wither, to droop sadly to the side, upsetting the precious, 
the delicate balance of the plants, letting the vase tip one day, 
precariously, to the right, sending it hurtling, streaking to the
linoleum floor, ending in a deafening shatter of ceramic
against the unyielding, beige flooring, then creating
absolute chaos from tranquility, unsightliness
from past beauty, violent pink fragments
from a united piece of ceramic craft,
whose denizens lay dispersed
amid the wreck of skill,
which was provoked
by the glowing sun