Poems & People

what if poems could be symphonies, and people their orchestra?

Regret Me Not (I Admonish Thee)

For each tide that bathes’t thy evening shore,
tumultuous is rendered this ocean: my being;
For a fleeting sigh of thy intending and yore
heaves my dusted now in its fury receding.
Doubtless, adore thee for always and forever
I, though if even one black robin doth nest
‘pon thy heart with woe and woeful feather,
I shall leave thee for boulevards to better rest.

Flower of the Desert

No fragrance, of soul, of dust, of breath
can vanquish that of hers lingering; sweetest,
a flower of the desert; within me, she liveth
now unto ever, withers midst them she lest.
Nor taste, of wine, of bitter sweet death
can taint that of hers, not on wastelands shore’
my flower of the desert; within me, I knoweth
seeks of me silence, for she loves me no more.

Beautiful Fools

Wouldst it please thee, wert I the pope of fools,
for is my fall here to the very least of,
a blasphemy to myself or to ye?
Shalt I rather stand atop Plato’s monument
in awe of all but love, orphaned will,
departed dreams and hollowness?
For doubt I do, shalt thou yet be pleased with
such a wiser fool or even a foolish sage,
or I with myself, a bard to wasted years
and yawning egos too empty conquests.
I speakest of fate, and what you, my love;
morals, decency and fear of silence?
they mean naught, and naught to me doth thou mean.
Fare well the echo of time, without me,
as it deafens ye to be no different than
those I abhorr to which thou liken me,
and see if it pleases thee, O beautiful fool.

Akaasi 25: Empty Souls

I hath spoken to the mounds of dirt
even then hast returned to me reason,
But of empty souls ask me not O Lord
I vouch neither for the dead nor hollow.

Among Fools

Burdened art they with the plummeting hour
which falls from reason down unto madness,
not grieved further by such sin or fault
as to have left unlit the godly spectre of here,
and now; for may never a tomorrow exist
where gentle minds shalt gentle dreams
rock in the shadow of this tumult, today.
But If not, may vanity spit upon them,
and monsters art they who bleed for men,
bastards in the midst of all innocent fools
charged with the sanctity of raging virtues.

Essential Lies

To gain such affluence, unattained before,
we lost the wealth we were meant to gain,
akin to the wisdom of a life we had more
the wisdom of wounds, of loss and of pain.
Weapons and wars, letters and degrees
nations and borders, orders and decrees
likes of which to were unwelcome our dreams
as well to our egos too worthless it seems.

Akaasi 24: Wounded is that Eye

Where once shimmered a velvet sea,
of love, ardour and wrinkled clemency,
now spans hollow the end of my days,
beneath its skin, a wounded optic plays.

Akaasi 23: Never Bliss

Whilst thou rejoice’st in the splendor of day,
the fear of darkness hath crept to stain
thy conscience clean with the mark of dismay
and no longer then dos’t thy bliss remain.

Akaasi 22: The Pakistani Dream

Sesame sprouts crumble the sweating dirt,
a summer breeze warms a valley’s breath,
brimming shores under the majestic sun
pave an endless river to all fates unknown.

Remembrance

‘Neath the warm breath of our remembrance
of all things worth and all things worthless,
tis receeding, the shore of thoughtful semblance
and standing in its wake, art mounds dauntless;
of sand, of salt, of time and young promises,
A wasteland tis, the dusty bed of such oceans
neath this breath hot, tired and yet ominous
too many hath lost their tide in its motions.’

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