Metamorphosis Poems

It will be painful, generational. Hard to keep up. The old will resist fight the loss of their world. Change will be blinding, the fabric of civilization fraying turning to dust. Everything known will be obliterated. Humanity loses its identity.

One time in my youth my color was green with vim in my veins I swam with the stream I went through a change that the chrysalis take went to sleep as a raindrop awoke as a lake. Now music

It’s a fluttering dove, No…mayhap a trembling rabbit, Why does it sound so loud? The shaking, the trembling Now the throbbing, the thudding In my ears, a stampede, The gasp that awakens, confirming It’s the beat of my heart, Out

In this blood-watered land forms flow fluid as serpent becomes lizard, lizard becomes turtle, turtle become cicada, cicada becomes sea urchin, becomes sacred owl with onyx eyes In this soul-fed land fugitive figures fuse into each other, my breath becomes

Neath the boughs and eaves; a soul all withered, weathered; grieves. For a love once unfurled Of promises made; and hope assumed and vows murled…. Scattered and battered in the undergrowth lies a heart that has found no rhythm no

I feel eternal and immortal as I don’t realise it is my breath which is keeping me alive I am not bothered to know every breath that I am taking is leading me into my grave Upon Good I feel

Overturned, years of stasis Paralysis by mental blockade A political metamorphosis. Afoot at the general election; Vengeance of the Manifesto. The interregnum, the entrenched vote Tranches appear, on Revised Register Deceased coded, in numbers resurrect. Beyond the grave, claim their

I travel between two worlds World of imagination, another of daily settings. I work, I talk, I sleep and eat And do all things, all for common blessings. My essential hours guide me To assume my conscious self Amid the

He awakens To a wicked world Of His own design Where the Damned Live amongst The Divine Their perfect little lives An illusion Fueled by vanity As He searches The darkness for light And His sanity Rythm of the heart

the hunt begins after sunset under cracked moon, blindfolded clouds start visiting volitionlessly: the nesting eagles, I choose this bitter absurdity of large wings under the sun, where they will announce the shade, a lonely patch of life, of signature

the end of a thought is never for its death, but for a new beginning; there is always a meaningful silence, a metamorphosis, I do ever find, between a stop and its succeeding word like that of death into birth

Wrigglers dripped again from hidden heights. The red river changed its course furiously. The wave climbers abseiled from a lethal boat to wipe out the beach memory. Timeline sneaked to put the blood signature of a cult on the glass

Difficult it becomes, the secret of the judgement and metamorphosis of the painted cotton into a stained truth. To save the present tense. A dangerous crowd of vowels to express the incomplete moment of watery teeth, so hung, while misspeaking

Are angelic neurons fleshing inside a trans-Inquisition tavern? Another kind of speaking, pontificating globe? Can we feel the burning and sexing of the four seasons with the four elements, recycling earth, water, air, fire, to produce the quintessence of your

We were there, when the whistling of rifles blew And the hats of the old man into the sky they flew The cries were so awful Like the sting of a bee it was painful Yet they called for a

The smell of lilacs in the air Reminds me of you, mom And the way you took my palm And said you would never leave me…. Then on that frightful morning so many years ago When you were taken from

Oh north wind I can feel you again cause I am a gypsy at heart, take me away this year to a place where people smile where there is no one senile, there is youth and there is hope take

Insane I turn around an amputee to live, for not living fighting the inner war speared, lacerated, like neanderthal in cave my weapon the serrated moon cried in fluted dark a glimpse of bare bones the ash of a bleeding

O, dear Indus, the witness of millenniums’ History, traditions and culture You feed us with your sweet water And in your lap you us nurture You might be a mighty channel Of flowing water for the world On your course

Heartless I was and life, a guarded prison , still you pierced your way through…. Never I saw past black and white , but you made me see the world in lavender hue…. You understood even the unsung thoughts ,

Ms. Divorce Saw You And Your Man, Walking Down The Street, Holding Each Other’s Hand. Ms. Divorce Don’t Like What She See, And She Tells Herself, “That Man Should Be With Me.” Ms. Divorce Is Lonely, So She Wants You

Life is but constant struggle Which one takes to eternal peaks It is the sound of soldiers’ bugle Which brings light to cheeks Hurdles may come to test Ego of a person to any limit Only those can prove best

… he crossed the border The great river bed with cold water whispering on the pebbles and the distant mountain, snow-capped, steep and hard to reach in black fatigues, no automatic weapon, good army boots, a polished buckle on his

This road will not take you to a theme. In wind, a pebble was making different strokes. Hanging stones were hiding the music of poppies. To fill in my glass of silver I place the stitches in images of naked

What are you? Look in a mirror. What do you see? Do you see you? Or do you see an edifice, scaffolding, a facade? Do you see just a vehicle, a mode of transportation? Do you see what you are?

The raindrops were falling tip-top-tip and I was feeling to sleep, one day it rained which took everybody with itself all were dancing happily the peacock was dancing its wings were so delightful. The raindrops were falling tip-top-tip and I

The piercing blue water cascades off the gleaming smooth rocks, descending into a pool of mystics. The dark amber trees soar high into the heavens, the ample leaves whisper sweet nothings in the air. The radiant flowers blanket the earth,

He was asking for, at least, a passive euthanasia. Rage or hostility was giving pain to phantom limbs. Race puts forth, a trembling version of ethnic choice. A piped dream which never took off. On middle of the road a

After four female checks, came a sparkling young man The beginning of Sunday, Sep 09 saw the principal touch of a brilliant kid Shouting, rolling and crying the black man With grins and appreciation mother adores for the kid Daddy

I stared at the stars and wondered When will they knock on my door! And a stardust sprinkled cake will be served On my dinner table as a dessert And gardens of hope will bloom. Moon will say to the

They said something was wrong with my mind Treating my “disorder” like a disease, how could they have been so blind? It was never that simple, the problem lurked deeper Never mind the blood and tears, it lay within the

one night in the end of October drifting through the woods there rose up a demonic creature that would haunt the neighborhood one such occasion it bit this little girl in the neck blood soaked her dress & she was

Frustration, misery, Swelling deep inside of me. Suffering, growing large in my heart. It’s bursting at the seams. It grows ever so heavy. Too heavy for my shoulders to bear. It explodes with sorrow, grief, and shatters into pieces. Pieces

Do not listen to the moon, child He’ll whisper only nonsense in your ear And fill your head with silly notions But not a word of substance, not one ounce of truth So mind me, child and do not listen

If I die young, don’t cry, be happy Think what I’d wish you’d be and go out and be A short life I always had in mind My time was enough to see The world filled with love The world

Creaking doors in the attic Crying like ocean waves Wind singing through the canopy As the piano starts to play. Evil voice moaning lullabies Heavy footsteps are in sight Bloody-red eyes in the dark shades How haunted this world is.

I heard about a lost island once. The sea-god had taken it back. Yes, I’ve heard that story too. They are taking us to the east This time, by sea and by land, To the land of many a wonders!

Under lip’s shadow dislocated in faint moonlight we discussed the maligned communications between fuming monologues of desiccsatd life. Sorcery was not able to knife the secrets of the park, branches and trees of memory. The game continues in jungle of

My prayers are not prayers And my penance is not penance, Remarkable, the patience you show, Admirably greater than mine, I assure; Incomparable, thy dedication, thou Dried and dried under the hot sun, With no food nor drink, continuing endure,

A weeping willow was telling a trove of memories, for an ancient provenance where the lake sleeps. Why the sheen of water brings out ephemerality of ‘if’. You want to take a holy dip, never to come up again in

A hand without fingers draws a self-portrait. Faceless, only eyes glaring like bucketfull of burning coals. Was it not enough to call ‘wolf’. The pain scorches the compound where the blood of innocent flowed because somebody was burning woods. The

Precious Moments Merit To Be Written, In poems kept under the best of care, Never again will such events happen, For Time nary remakes a past affair; Perhaps, I might reread those rhymes someday, That flaunt of sweet caress your

You see me smiling You see me laughing To you I am carefree To you I have no worries. Sociophobia; you don’t know I fear the judgement of others I fear not fitting in I fear not being good enough.

Behold, If no name on earth, How could I exist? I would have been like a bunch of cotton Floating in the air, A cluster of ideas unidentified, A solitary being born and withered, Which matters not to the world