Detachment Poems

Surrounded I was by many, many moaning hearts, My heart, I felt for the last time, blurred vision, sound echoing from far, Black satin with milky lace they decorated the case, I felt like a queen again in white purest

The door closes behind me with a snap. My footsteps echo strangely on the street’s pavement. I feel the urge to go back. A pale sun is struggling hard to escape the cloud’s clutches. The smell of incense covers the

You are not the same You writhe in pain from limitless loss Eyes fixed on an untouchable point Thoughts have unrecognizable voices Happiness suffocates beneath an iced over pond Please come to the surface….breathe again But no answer from pink

Sadness mostly breaks upon the horizon it slips into its coma unless you awaken it with a light you carry it like a dead weight a burden inside you. push it all you might but sadness comes again. Let me

She steps into the world UNwanted As a child She can’t differentiate herself from Boys On her Teens shyness creep in and she distances from adolescent boys On crossing the Teens maturity dawns in and dreams of an appropriate life

He knows the way he’s perceived, he dies to see the way he seems, knowing it’s truly not what’s in his soul. Tells himself it’s not truly him, that hes better, but in time even he begins to loose hope

I saw a mocking bird upon a tree, alone, chirping a tune the skill of imitation bore he as it sang amid the gloom. Children played in the fields adults conversed freely, but of the bird in the broken still

The thing about it is that I don’t know who I want to be with or if I want to be with anyone at all. I’ve spent my entire life being tied down to a lover, not ever knowing what

Life of a river Hidden in your mirror It is no error To smile to wither Clouds of your summer Let your body dance Never give a chance For bad thoughts to slay The joy of your day! Dreams of

Rebel without a cause and bad to the bone In his white tight t-shirt and back pocket comb Oooh well I think you were one real cool dude… But of course there was more to you than That ever did

In my search, I move away from where I want to go. In my attempt, I break away from the very goal. In my desire, I destroy My oneness With the whole In my words, I suppress the silence of

Find your place the back of the bus take what they give you don’t make a fuss do as they say not as they do follow their rules stay quiet too no protesting … no squeaky wheel go through the

Never saw the face of my begetter And will never know who is my mother I am a childhood of seven years old Who wanders from one road to another road From one street to another street Now all streets

A child who was more of the trees, Than of any man I knew, Whose laughter tinkled in the breeze, And mingled in the dew. Oft In the speckled summer shade, Pleasant dark and divine, In the beauteous forest glade,

Through the elements of fear in faith you become vulnerable to conversing legends. The reclining god was stolen from the temple for a weeping skull. Red clover will interrogate the blurred sky for domestic violence of dark themes. Ashes in

“Madame Tussaud’s” Initially I was scared to enter that semi dark hall, The hall of statues- An eerie atmosphere, The smell of ancient dresses worn by statues, Oh my God–those wax sculptures, Had brainwashed my mind like a jaundiced fellow,

A flaw I discovered in self, But never made any amend, Then why can’t I bring to forgive? A blemish I found in a friend. Who am I but a lesser mortal? I too flounder to hold my self, I

When temptation comes Smoothness stops A prison is formed Anxious and bored Around the wheel An obstacle feel There is an angle Psychic illness bangle Of stressful thoughts In your accounts Stop all your shouts Temptation now Just let it

I feel the tiredness of my years, those quiet times when breath appears in melting mosaic imagery, upon the mirrors of a sea that only calls so many names, through pious sunlit tortured flames that scrape themselves away from light,

It wasn’t too late, it was just a fate It wasn’t a mess, it was only a chance To make someone delight, not always have to fight, But to gain the light, one always has to cope against night I

Leela was what she said, she said with those eyes I heard nothing she said with those eyes I swear I lost my name with those eyes I knew my world would change with those eyes My thoughts were confused

I am Dead! O wind! O sky! I know you have no tears to cry for me, Believe it; you have a song to sing for me! Just shake the trees and make them dance. My life was busy, I

When you used to live here, The morning came early, Because in the night we would watch the moon And see it blink into the sun. The streets were filled with rainbow colors. The birds sang to golden quivers That

My name has been written in a piece of letter, waiting for me to come for a warm conversation. I was lost… I was swimming into the imagination of the melancholy. Leaves were embraced in the street. It was autumn.

I’m lost in your eyes Like a ship lost at sea Your lips must be a compass Because they’re guiding me To the treasure Better than gold I wonder how this will unfold I wonder how you will unfold To

He walks in fire, Fire breathing all hidden passions In intense fashion, Moves him like a particle riding on mad waves. Boiling blood being too humid Pouring words of moist wants. Exasperated heart tempering with scenting dewdrops That cool uncalled

The symphony of you serenades I feel for the sound of touch My fingers caress the piano keys that are the gentle ridges descending your spine Violin strings resonate in the silk strands of your scented hair Your warm eyes

When Dr. King said, \”I have a dream that one day our children would be judged by the content of their character not the color of their skin.\” Was the \”our\” he referred to African Americans or all people? If

Black hole in my china cup, You swirl round in vortices; Rising, falling, twirling up, You mind me no notices! In your twirling eye, black As pitch, I see me in a café; Sitting up and sitting back, Stirring black-hole

My useless body, looks outside the window. Sees the pleasant nature, comes a wish to run across the velvet grass. The lovely rain makes me jealous, of children splashing in the puddles. Once I want to wander, explore the fragrant

Rain holds life, In every little drop, Hanging on every leaf and flower, Reflecting without a mask. Each lone drop, Has a story to tell, Of a struggle to hang on, In its journey. Like a teardrop, It falls from

Experiences continue to haunt you Life events sort of taunt you Things to which you long said good bye You fear someday might say hi Heart had seen dreams shatter Thoughts said past doesn’t matter People continue to pull you

People are like apples picked from a tree, The beautiful ones with no imperfections are picked first, but that makes them bitter and unripe. The bruised and dented are picked last, but that makes them sweet and delicious. But beauty

I am rage mixed with fire. I will arrive in a fury and leave destruction in my wake. I am hurt and abandonment. I will bruise, black and blue, and will pick myself back up. I am skinned knees and

Atlantic City, not a place but the fragment Of a memory that lights up bright and garish In the starless night when day is done When ragged dreams arise from murky beds Beneath the waves washing up like seaweed On

These lips felt a first kiss These lips tasted chocolate and lipstick These lips pressed against a windowpane… My lips smart from the sting of cold winter’s air My lips so parched; dry; chapped…the hot summer sun left it there

The grass turns grey and the mist prevades the space There is a beauty afar over the river who’s in an anxious wait I would go against the current and snuggle up to her even though there are rapids and

Dark cloud looming. Moving slowly. But it’s there. Creeping in front of the sun’s path, dimming the light, inch by inch. Will it settle? Will it stay? Will it slide on by and keep on it’s way? Is there rain

Unhappy man I am! I can’t tell Why I dread the gods of heaven, The purgatorial demons of hell, The truths I need but haven’t; Happy pig in a philosopher wig! Apprentice me earnest and true – Which to embrace,

As a little child, I always wanted to be a butterfly but as I was growing up, the people who were heart of mine took little by little & piece by piece according to their capacity , and instead of