Memories


wrinkled fingertips
canyons carved by droplets and droplets
forehead sighs with cracks

mist in the mirror
joyous splash of water
from luxuriant tap, made to look antique

like this face
only god forgot
to make it also dignified

face the bark of oak
when looked at closely
only no one wants to

mist in the eyes
white shadows, black shadows
at night, when the bed creaks sympathetically

for it is solid, it knows
that the night will pass, every one does
every one passes

no it’s not reassuring
because at night, you’re face to face
with shadowy prophets

Lashes of weather on my cheek, unquestionably!
Ah, the frolicking landscape, indeterminate, unclear, all for me!
I applaud you, Velocity, you give me strength
To own the seconds, each sticking to a different petal,
A different raindrop on my brow, ah, the microcosm!
I shake the winds’ hand, my hand shakes. We form company
Or merely open up old relationships, I ask with every breath
After their long unseen cousins mingling with
The East Coast crowd, adventurous.
Wings aflutter, like sparrows they cut through the sky,
Thoughts unclouded and empty, is this the visceral attraction of freedom?
Is this the empathy of forests in my nostrils; pines, yews?
Will I share wordless stories, will I last so long to catch every murmur?
Oh, how it pulls me!

I close the window
And let the world re-enthrall me
through your smile, when you look up from the book you’re reading.

in trembling crescendos, so it goes word by word

in multiplied silence

how impotent the pretense conjured by mind,

meagerly dwarfed by absence vast as heart

palpable as flesh

 

how stultified loss becomes, a parasite on routine

fed by devotion, fear, memory’s soft pain

for life had the potential to be

to be good, or not to be this futile

a trope, for sure, but clung to,

for lack of all regularity

we cling to rituals of grief and forgetting

and the frightful/fruitful thing is they work

I no longer had the power of truth in my eyesight

Flicking through canopies of fallen trees

Abiding by the color of the magazine, making amends

With the wind, howling soundlessly just outside

The memory of your warmth that attached to me

Strong as Jim Beam on the rocks

And floating

I no longer had the power of movement in my feet

Sucking on promises of shrinking spacetime

That you will inevitably want of me

Soon, so very soon

I can’t tell myself it can’t be done

I still hold the picture of you imprinted on my temporal lobe

And so I am enthralled

And so I leave you

As paralyzed leafs hush your gentle tap-tapping away

Away.

See how we stand together, calmness rising,

lanterns carrying it to trees and eyes

grass breathing, stormclouds fading, and inaction

sweetens mood of the moment.

 

Cool music of the evening rings ascetic,

a skulking cat’s soft step, and flimsy prose

leaving our mouths sometimes, sparing and floating

smoothly endangers nought.

 

Brisk flow of understatements, thoughts unwhispered

emergent and insistent, peach and straw

of sun and sunrays, swimming past the vision

that colours us a smile.

By Gatis Pāvils

Most of all, new morning

smell of a thousand blades

of grass, perfumed with water

arising from the river

the mist. The catalyst

of dreams of heat, strength, paddles

awkward familial camaraderie

and scrambled eggs prepared

over bonfire. (though some said tea

tasted as adventurous,

we never tried it that way, for lack of pan

or heed).

Post-enslaved colony blessed

with white nights

light swallowed by itself

procures no novel meaning

bungles old.

Yet, the morning is as discrete a ritual

as any.

Especially in front of a tent.

Hurray, over 1,000 views!!! Thanks for reading, everyone 🙂

I see you still, dripping cold rainwater,

As you walk in weary, thin with shivers

Trailing  trumpets of  laughters

Rebukes and miseries,

Enthralled to summer

A rod and a bucket, a scrawny memory

Of a fish you felt was meagre

Enough to warrant a pardon

From consumptive sniggers as

Its bones cut our fingers.

Your little, immature souls were great,

You later learned the word magnanimous’

Bewildering Latinate simplicity

As was your pity

Self-pity

So intertwined because you were world.

And then we all grew up.

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