Chaste Poems

A poem writes my name. I am trembling on paper like salt. Flowing like moon on the black wound. The lamb and the skull. I know the saint invented by masses. You need a fresh awakening. A vastness from nothing

How to begin the journey of truth? it was moving away from all paths. No concrete answers were there, questions loomed large, a moaning confusion reigned. I moved inward, to open the door, I had to talk to my poems.

I refuse to inherit cruel conditioning I will breathe my own bizarre air Call me a rebel if you wish I don’t deny, nor do I care Bare feet on filthy roads A brutal smile to each stranger I refuse

I belong to the song of the sun Humming the chants of flame I breathe. The sea rests in me motionless With its endless depths I think. Storms of being, clear the chaos Emptiness of chaste silence I hear. A

The flag unfurled, and from within, fresh rose petals Jauntily floated down like gently melting snow flakes. Soon, even the smell of freedom dissipated, losing its Way into the winding lanes and by lanes of our lives. Tell me, which

”You live in a queer world of dreams, Mr. Ahmed Turning odd imaginations to mere fancy words Bejeweled by baffling metaphors and similes That one mightn’t get the hang of with ease Why don’t you eschew the pesky rhyme rule,

My bafflement forces my day to waste, Shall I for them or for my eyes alone Or for a purpose yet abstruse, go on – Another serving of this bitter taste? Yes sinner I am trying to be chaste, fixated,

Let’s be swans in another life, Stand in peace side by side. Touch one another with eyes, Look chaste and princely white. Purity we will symbolize, When we spread up to rise, Become envoys from the skies And sing together

Today I want to take a lethal dose of black lips, confronting the killer on contract. Time dithers to escort. May be a cold-blooded murder of a handful of sick shadows will give a transparent memory. Planting a sad kiss

This bonded fear bids for power, Will I destroy myself in valley of puppets? War in dreams, of sins and morals of masked pretentions wears me off. Time rolls violently near the periphery, before it flies away. One chaste run

When my self , apart roams , My conscience recalls madam Marcelene Gomes. My teacher at St. Bartholomew’s school, Who taught us the virtuous rule. A fine and devoted teacher, Humanity and spiritual preacher. A woman of strict conduct, Employing

There once was an imp whose appearance was vain, his behavior was foolish, even his speech and imposing mannerisms were maimed! From those eastern cannibalistic lands afar he and his kind had once been blessed, indentured to serve the superlative

Audacity to live with your demons, putting up a fake love belief, who was the time, of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what I was not just putting up the shades of death into nothingness of peace in war.

profiling the divine phallus on terraced shrouds of fault the dilemma of arcane notation starts for that succultent rumours, emotively torn asunder, a green room becomes epiphanic, the voice was gone with black sun; buried onto neck in the drenched

Shedding the wholeness of negation you arrive: fear was sweeping the floor when smoke screen of love was hung on blue morning, you groped for a hidden coin, lost in the woods of mania. Distinguishing a chaste word, without thought,

Twined in time and silken shadow Bathed in light and blinded there Lost in rhyme on greenest meadow Confusion, sadness, a cross to bear Can time make end this never-ending? Can future lost e’er be replaced? Can past distort the

The crown he wore weighed him down, his uncertain tone wreathed As his face so stoic hid the storm that surged beneath Its not about my faith in you, for I know your morals are true I know you’re as

Urn was carring the snow unmelted like the soul of night. It was a very strange winter like araucaria puzzle. Who was dragging the evergreens over the chaste cliff? All the incogerent roots have broken the placenta for new gods.

sometime I watch the fear held aloft by you, possessed, you try to protect yourself from you in vain, very thirsty, white hydrangeas on your lips tremble, exhaust their need for clouds in blue eyes, pale fountain gives up tumult

Was it a summer storm of sexuality? Only the chaste statue stood in threads, and then went down the cuticle with nipple rings. The demand of namelessness was rising in the dim shadows of brisk tones. To step down from

A crooked slanting moon shifts the eye comes under the chaste tree and washes the tainted victory. Wolves start howling at the tomb of unknown martyr, man-eaters recoil on the sugar island and talk about destinies, A mourning crowd walks

At the end of the thought was sadness. When temple lies broken a little white lotus comes up on the tranquil lake. A cute word enters the lone voice, stands down, collapses, retreats into silence. A chaste tree becomes a

Waiting for a chaste bread, whole life under the moon, to speak off the inconsistency of happiness, with a monologue of a needle in eyes for a madness of sublime verse. Canoeing in a frozen lake for a stranded rose,

It was a taxidermal view thousands of fawns on the lake. Can you handle the die-off of the whole truth? I have nowhere to go. Genes are turning on, turning off. Bare hands holding the bruises. Hungry, but cannot eat

Best friends are angels sent from above, They deserve every bit of your true love. This relationship is beautiful and wise, Rendering to life a spirit that never dies. What will happen in the end? To a life that has

I woke up from a nap to find no wife just a yellow-legged spider above her pillow pulling hanks of web from its shiny black abdomen silent in dim light half turning from industrious momentum and I imagined the screeching

Shards, Your shards you have to pick up, Shattered all over the flo’r, Scattered like someone knocked over a house of cards, How can you look at yourself? Blame the shards for cutting your hands, Cuss them out using every

A life well lived, still leads us back Straight to old death’s door I thought he was a stranger once But, now I’m not so sure He looks so familiar now Have I seen his face before I pounded on

Autumn is our conscience. Vast expanse of blue sky nurses it, white clouds occasionally cover it up, cool air quickly cleans the blockade. Autumn is short lived. It wears peaceful colors. Monk like contemplation wraps it up by logic and

An attack with hatred and ferocity killed many people, how disdainful blind eyes with no sign of fraternity killed outright teenagers, how painful Parents who lost their children shed tears of blood in mournful an act against the faith of

How can White define the Spread of days, Speed, a haze, The blank slate, Looks barren. The pause button seems too long- Can perseverance deter patience? Maybe, the force of resistance, Has been guillotined, To the blow of flow. Time,

MY mother is a world to me She gives birth to me and she care me too. When I am tot I will cry and lay with my heart. She come like an angel and give every thing to me.

A twisted journey starts on wings after the end of the road. Ambition sits in corner, nonchalantly and a tempest hollers around the spires. Broken down from parched ceiling a mural turns into a mundane knife. Lifts the rage, of

As the dawn comes to sight The feeling of loneliness avail itself With the nourishment of memories, Memories we’ve built together. I lie awake every evening, So scared to close my eyes Because all that is in my mind is

I tried to be that girl the girl that was the reason you fell I have so many stories to tell Sad ones though Cuz you made it so You broke my heart And You tore it apart Funny enough

Are my words hilarious or do they make you feel delirious, but am so serious although sometimes I act mysterious, I feel you in my soul, tonight raise me like Lazarus, from the dead, and am not being superstitious, tonight

A Majestic stretch of marble lambasted the sky above, While the river Narmada revered and whirled flow below A sight so lovely beholding overpowers mind and soul For this mighty sandstone wonder many ages old Where Nature’s artisan carved lofty

A tremble on my lips before I speak A hesitation in my heart making it so weak A fearful thought whether it’d be fine If I say, ‘will you be my valentine?’ A certain spark in your big beautiful eyes

Myriad of choices some made myself few were made for me some paths I chose some were chosen for me. On some I got lost on some I wandered some I was forced to walk about some I would never

Brambly winds has shaken the buds of your may And may be your coral is much more red And in the blue Mediterranean where she has lay The dreams of a crystalline streams by her bed Past her garden where

Down the memory lane, Walking on the green pathway, Running hand in hand, Along the blue line, Listening to the singing birds, Watching the waves, Tapping in harmony with the melody, Feeling the gentle touch of the breeze, Causing the