poems

All posts tagged poems

LIVING MY SOUL

Published July 16, 2013 by reginaginaxoxo

ImageThey say the spirit and the body makes a man whole…

But what if I want to be free and live my soul?

What if the beautiful things are not seen

What if there’s an exceeding unknown beauty within?

What if the living so called is not living but dead…

And dead rather awake.

The soul lives and the body lives,

The body dies but the soul still lives.

What is anything divine…beyond creation?

When everything is an assumed illusion?.

Dust am I to Dust I return

But I am a soul…where do I belong?

The Earth and the Paradise

Have been shuffled by the wise.

The attributes of a man and all those courage

God himself said was made in his image…

If literally , was that his goal?

To make a man physical with a soul?

Why couldn’t He make or remake

A wind like soul widely awake…

Like invisible seasons coming and going

Not leaving us wondering but rather a feeling.

That way Adam and Eve would’ve no fall

No sin, no lust, nothing corporal.

No fever and no fret

But only the serene God’s breath.

No face to judge, no physical fall

Graceful and living, yet invisible.

Jesus wouldn’t had to be betrayed

Lord Buddha, at home could’ve stayed.

There would be no blood nor murder

Nor anything amiss the shatter.

Distance wouldn’t matter for nothing would be far

Nor could the physical eye witness the horror of the war.

Living body-less

Even Devil couldn’t possess,

No treachery, no lies nor good-byes

No hollow meaning that we are born to die.

But life half-imagined

Is fully challenged.

The superior voice decides

And we mortals do abide…

The body and the soul

As the holy communion is one whole…

For body is it’s own heaven

And in the death of which we find salvation.

 

THANK THE UN-THANKED

Published July 1, 2013 by reginaginaxoxo

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The grey walls I am writing about,

A cemented block and of course the color grey….

A gloomy color no doubt

But not a tragic story to say.

You can be familiar

With the same faded memories,

Life of difference yet so similar

For even inanimate things have histories.

I am not talking about the past, for all it brings is plague

Nor of the people remarkable or hardly remembered

But those long-gone days so precious and vague

Of tales forgotten the service rendered and non –living life treasured.

The look on your face—-

The confused look that my lines seem a riddle

Not and clear defy time and space

The grey walls I am talking about just recall….

Years ago add or divide the ten

A privileged eyes to enter the magnificent gate

The same hands holding a beloved now holds a pen

Recall those days and count backwards till date.

You and I share the same story

maybe not the same memory.

The days of innocence-yes my topic

A young old grey walls a total nostalgic.

A cartoon bag did you have it too?

Being so tidy just to be untidy

Did you realize we are the privileged few?

To be loved when returned with a bruised knee.

The colors painted the gray classroom

Just to match the new souls so bright

Ravages of time we couldn’t half assume

The gray walls turned bright or bright souls gone white….

Imagination too painted the grey classroom

The question why my blackboard was green

One loving matron coming to broom

The dirty floors magically clean.

The cruel mates who stole the favorite toy

Pencils and sharpeners the latest accessory.

Homeworks would hardly annoy…

as Teachersto tell our favorite story.

Where are those days now?

Could the cycle of life or the parallel universe get it  back?

Gone are those days and facing it with ignorant How’s!

Today, yesterday’s tomorrow goes back to black.

Many words,lyrics and poems emerge

Of memories,childhood etc by the greatest poets.

I, a no-one yet, writing a dirge

Not of the dying year but of the dead walls and chalk baskets.

When the world itself chooses to lose it’s value

Or a woman herself willing to give up her virtue

On what absurd subject could my poem be ranked?

…when I simply want to Thank the un-Thanked.

–         The grey walls that I recall

–         The greatest friends I’ve made

–         The place where I learnt my prayers

–         And also to tie a shoe lace

–         The stories that you and I can share

–         -the place where I learnt to love and care

–         The unthanked walls still there…………….

XO Regina.

ODE ON DARJEELING (my place)

Published June 17, 2013 by reginaginaxoxo

The twisted roads and the high cliffs,

The blue sky kisses the mountains stiff.

From a distant afar the green or the blue

(I do not know the colour to describe that hue)

The colour of the emerald embedded hunchback

That dawns with blue, reigns in green till swallowed by the power of black.

Or could it be the angels mirth

To carve Heaven in the womb of the Mother Earth?

 

The beauty of the hills to see

Is such another ecstasy!

The hypnosis of the fair to know

The allurement starting from the sky and ending on tea gardens below.

The joy of nature plays in the eye

When trees begin to ‘illusionise’ in contrast to the sky.

When over the crown shines the golden fire

From Heaven looks like topaz shining above sapphire.

When Eos arise to mark another day,

One can hardly know the difference in May.

Four different seasons in the course of calendar

To this beautiful hills do the weather surrender,

Could it be summer without a heat

Or a winter with it?

Could it be the rainfall accompanying the spring?

Oh! The mysteries of a beautiful Darjeeling.

 

When the chaos of Heaven’s pour down transparent blood

From within the windows do people hear the heavenly sod.

Who knew the battles of the invisibles could be cheated

When God himself uses the lightning against the undefeated.

The heavenly blood pours down

In the closest realm of the crown.

The skiey battlefield gets cleared

And mortals and subjects arise no more feared.

With the mortal eye look at the queen!

Shining in glory as though it was her victorious win!!!

She stands tall and proud

The mountains behind are her enemies shroud.

She stands distinct from the rest

As she is the blue-blood of magnificent Everest !

 

When the Golden object reaches the west

Had it’s authority nearly under arrest

The tired fire is the brightest thing

To see in the surreal evening.

The clouds are golden and so is Heaven

The evening blessed by the beauty of color seven.

The crimson light from the golden overflows

And to the plains,the hills, the mountain’s bestows

Arm in arm do they unite

To bid goodbye and welcome the night.

To break the friendship of Heaven and Earth who dares?

For they preach love and beauty are greatest when shared.

 

The tiny stars appear

In the sky and hills as though a reflection in the mirror

The darkness cannot consume Darjeeling

For in this town the stars share it’s siblings.

Tokyo,New York or London

Could ever witness this phenomenon.

This small town of love and affection

Couldn’t be defined less than Heaven’s reflection.

If you ask me how am I sure of this?

An atmosphere likely of Angel’s kiss?

I would not be able to tell so well

As to who else would believe in a fairytale?

 

When God said ‘’let there be light!’’

It turned out to be the morning, evening and the night.

All the shades between black and white

Have found its glory in my curvy heights.

What magic used in ‘’thunder, lightning or the rain’’

Or what song inspired Keats to write a Nightingale?

The best of what is known is unknown

Everything is greater than what it’s shown.

‘’….. unheard melodies are sweeter’’

And adding colours, music and hues to the picture,what we imagine is,but, half a rapture.

 

Come by a region where nature sings

Of people,place,tress and buildings.

The chiming clock and the bells fine ringing

You feel the place and it is Darjeeling.

The icy wind could caress your senses

And make your experience more intense.

Like the first page of the first book you ever read

Highly likely a kingdom where a Princess and a Prince would wed.

Come by a kingdom that you should see

And be amazed to find it in a democracy.

Come by to figure the warmth of the cold

And hear the stories never told.

It could be the angel’s mirth

Creating Darjeeling in the womb of the Mother Earth.

The uncorrupted serenity

Could be easily mistaken for eternity

But it is no Heaven

For Heaven is impossible to describe with a pen..

What could it be then?

 

The wisest would try to solve

The mysteries of love and why the Earth revolves.

As for a native like me

It is more than a realm producing tea and more than what you see.

It is not about what drives on wheels

But more about what this place makes me feel,

It is not about what to solve

But more about falling in love,

It is not about a religion or a song

But knowing where I belong.

It is all about what is real

And my Queen stands imperial,

With prisoners in forest chains

And divine blood running through her vein.

With the brightest aura and the strangest architect

She blissfully nurtures all her subjects.

I wouldn’t trade my ‘this-moment’s-feeling’

So heavenly and blissful given by Darjeeling.

She is the queen and I am the daughter

Her name and my name is pretty much not ‘’writ on water’’

 

ImageRegina gurung