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

Goose-stepping on a soul song you set the sky ablaze, and I was not ready to welcome you. I was hungry and I was thirsty but could not find the road. Back and forth, back and forth walking with the

It was a slant love. Back to back, lips to lips. Lethal and dark strong yet delicate like spider’s web. A dark side of the moon sending conflicting signals to bacilli- of dirty lane, pink and blue. My pug licks

Unimpressed by your lack of ambition I want to control, dictate your small mind Exploited, but fine with your position While our heads are foreign, our hearts combined Your mother, your dad grew up in this town Your father served

Complexion and hair he possesses are bright We can compare him to a film black and white Nay, he has no cooling equipment at home Although cushion and mattress made of foam He is a writer and became my friend

Long barbed wire- rage- divides nations imaginary line in the blue sky- fear- keeps nations alert beyond the waves of shore, a nation’s hand of power keeps control, subjects are squeezed, rulers thump feet, earth is divided in the name

Wanted to wear the grief uncrying, sitting on the bank, counting the waves, watching the swaying of earthen lamps. There was a little water on the moon, charged atoms settling in the lap of a sponge. The water becomes the

You feel you have conquered it all. Your big ego still feels small Look man … The mountain still stands tall. You blast your way up to the top But you know not now … Where to stop The hill

Grey has become friends With ancient dreams. Lack of sunlight in the brain made Tigers myriad minded to seek food in the garth Unfamiliar fathers surrender their might on The nonchalance of their own growing up off springs The throat

Diversity : It’s sad day when I am told my way or no way I realize how blind the world has become when people say you are not welcome just because I love to know different routes to reach a

The child in his arms was such a precious gift, her sweet loving smile would make his heart lift. Born into a love that none could compare with her baby blue eyes framed with curly blonde hair. Conceived and born

Ocean waves drift Walking through the sand Image of the lighthouse gazed upon my eyes I finally understand A mysterious beauty rising in the far distance I slowly approach the rusted, creeping entrance My hair waving with breeze, vacant and

She bore me Like a bud on the branch Jumping with joy with the breeze of life She nurtured me Like the gardner tending a plant And when I became a flower She laughed and made merry Drunk with the

The BBC Philharmonic played Nimrod, Enigma Variations, and explained this is for your loved ones, we remember: and the music was like a great, great wave. A musician said – looking on their faces, it was important to keep yourself

I like Nothing – not in the sense of disliking Everything – but simply the concept; it’s peaceful, liberating. there is Nothing more rejuvenating than a day of Nothingness. no wandering of my mind to keep me awake, empty thoughts

To be in love. Her heart was a hill that I climbed with slippery soles. To be still in the moments of encouragement. I’d slide down unable to catch my footing. I acknowledge that I wasn’t dressed for the occasion.

Beyond the sex he was sleepwalking in shame hiding his faith ingloriously. A poacher in harem of politics, where you stack the hidden virility for killing the money. A single mate must die making love on screen in the vicinity

The biggest discredit to one’s own self is to not be ‘ yourself ’. To strive to be like someone is the biggest injustice, ever done. To be your own biggest critic. To judge with an impossible yardstick. To never