EVEN upon my knees
the EVER bloom
of Life and Petals.
How i wept tears
in both this beauty
and her Perfume.
:: 03.30.2022 ::
Monthly Archives: March 2022
J A T I S W A R
NEVER give up said the ostrich.
Common sneers along the streets.
Come on, arrested emotions makes
the world crashed inside trash.
“Is this what we wish? What we
get? This is what we wish when
we wish to die.”
Come on, please.
A cold. A piece of heart.
A place for the dying to forget.
From many memories i found myself.
Now and before and then again
forward — ahead.
Oh, how many. Forgot themselves.
जातिस्मर
JATISWAR.
:: 03.29.2022 ::
तिस्वरी
कभी हार मत मानो शुतुरमुर्ग ने कहा।
सड़कों के किनारे आम उपहास।
चलो, गिरफ्तार भावनाएँ बनाती हैं
दुनिया कचरे के अंदर दुर्घटनाग्रस्त हो गई।
“क्या हम यही चाहते हैं? हम क्या चाहते हैं?
प्राप्त? हम यही चाहते हैं जब
हम मरना चाहते हैं।”
कृपया आ भी जाइए।
जुकाम। दिल का एक टुकड़ा।
मरने के लिए भूलने की जगह।
कई यादों से मैंने खुद को पाया।
अभी और पहले और फिर
आगे – आगे।
ओह, कितने। खुद को भूल गए।
जातक
जतिस्वर।
THE WERE-LINGS’ ODE
And then, this good morning, how happy and glad you will be, day by day, week by week, year by year!
Who has not seen the dawn?
Who has not held the joy of sunrise?
When it came on, what was it but as if some eternal light had given glory to the world, and as if the future was made glorious before we saw it?
The air seemed full of it, and my soul, not wholly in tune with the day, seemed a full box of sunshine.
All, just all, was so lovely that I felt that it would not have been justice to anyone to send a low, dull, oppressive day to him.
If this morning did not deserve my raptures, I wondered what could possibly deserve them.
There is nothing in the world that is so delightful.
How did it get like this?
It is in one way to have these good mornings: this morning, this morning!
And yet the world was not designed for them.
Its beauty is only of such a loveliness that we are stupid if we can look at it without seeing the future glory of it.
To have them in the wintertime, when life is just beginning to stir, is something too wonderful to be seen merely as a convenience.
In order that the golden beauty may be present, the following conditions must be in operation.
First, a bare, clear sky must be free of clouds.
The sky has no dignity for its beauty if the heavens are full of clouds.
Second, no wind.
No wind is there for the clouds to play in; the sky should be entirely calm.
Third, no fog.
A night – fog, or fog that comes up like clouds out of the low country, is ugly and unnatural.
Fourth, there must be a break between two of their souls.
To crawl upward to the thin crust of Earth.
:: 03.29.2022 ::
INSIDE MY ROOM
A thought that i was a miracle now crawls through my mind. My body is overlapped like the second hand of new stock.
The ache in my lungs is a thunder that has its own sentiment.
My body has ripped and torn; the thought of suicide is a tempting image that occurs fearfully within my mind.
I roam in despair drenched in clouds of red humid blood that filters the sound of my escape throughout my room along with the pain.
My insides have turned like rusted dented clay and a wire ensues to serve as an electric tear, like clothes in a sale.
The beauty is all parts of the old and the new, yet we would break down — you could break down me.
The only thing that keeps me on my feet is my hope.
My disheartened mind ponders and plans to destroy myself.
My Soul, My Heart — a ruinous and dilapidated Estate.
It is all within my lonely room.
Beyond, beheld by Behemoth and the flood, the time, and the Great Nothing.
:: 03.29.2022 ::
THE LONELY BLUE BALLOON
And the balloon can never see the blue of its own private skin, Nor hear the pain in its own chest.
It floats on without hope or fate, On and on by itself against the prettiest of skies.
No one can help you, to save you: who has been hurt before?
Some better than you.
Save yourself.
Be brave!
Climb to the heavens.
Climb to your red heart.
Gaze into it — all you will have.
Gaze into it.
Look into it!
:: 03.29.2022 ::
THE FOREVER TRIBE
THE forest is only a shade; once the shadows shed and were-beasts lost are sad; then the leaves are torn off their trees to see the true worth.
No matter where the deer may roam, she looks for a tree and i hold her so sweetly.
I am the tree she depends on. The tree in her heart. I am always there. You are my Queen, i am your river!
The pale blue chalky water stared at the bottom with her shiny black shoes the color of her cheeks. Her shiny white bag that was not much bigger than her body with all her clothes folded neatly inside. Her pretty flowing dress and sweet smile and the pink, frothy lips.
“Dalal, Dalal, do you ever run out of things to do? Like books to read or stories to read to your children?”
She looked at her friend Elie and realized that this man who has been her only friend in three years had always been a good listener. They had arrived at the secluded spot to start their day with a little chatter and conversation.
“You can tell me your stories anytime, Dalal,” Elie said, reading the expression on her face.
She thought he looked pleased, the way he grinned from one corner of his mouth. “I don’t have much to do these days.
I always wanted to learn how to write. So I’ll start today.”
He had already unfolded his long legs from under the wide tree roots, and was looking up to the brilliant blue sky.
“We just arrived in The Forever Land, and the first thing I did was look for the post office, to send my wife and children pictures of the sea. She used to spend hours studying the pictures she had gotten off the internet. And here I am without a good job or money, with no travel opportunities.”
She asked him to tell her about the culture here. “The Forever People are a very friendly and trusting people. And they have this song they sing, very sad. It means, never love anyone but your family. And you never think you’ll find the one you’re meant to love until you get so old that you forget to fall in love. And then the special day comes, and you love again and fall asleep with a smile on your face.”
:: 03.29.2022 ::
FLUTE-THROATED BIRD
I heard a voice say tenderly by the brook (a flute-throated bird) singing:
‘you have no choice’ and the shore ebbed away singing ‘i carry you through the river of life’ and worn rock by waters we never knew.
ooh, so it goes! ah, life like blood should we ever know and babbled brooks a lullaby for life and she so elegantly devoured by nature said, ‘i’m One with you if Nature knows.’
And sometimes life is an egg laid and never loved and it makes me wonder… when she breathes does she see the sun between her breasts and it makes me wonder ooh, so it goes.
Ah, life like blood should we ever know wandering by babbled brooks of raging love. I have lived many lives to reach the one true love. But always failed.
PLATH IN THE OVEN
WASH the moon —-> bring some soap
between dirty words might have been born
unlike fetus’ now dead
How about Boris Karloff:
makeup for monster actor acting
so funny i died crying life
How fruit flies like bananas
weeping finding out how
my grandfather clock is
so full of bugs – buzz me out
she has many roses inside
the sad mausoleum of vagina
i ate a candy bar called
coochy cooh and had a beer
oh hell holding a mug so cold
she got chills holding it
a freezer!
a hug a smile
a smug denial
a bit pale
a Plath in the oven
can we ever recover?
over drive like a smile.
:: 03.24.2022 ::
LOVE HOW TEARS FLOW
LOVE how tears flow of last nights
flowers swaying upon late sun’s light
captured words brilliant hearts
only upon time says what days last
words dying buried inside souls
of Gold.
Love how fear moves all our lifes
soil nuturing us upon morning skies
capturing feelings of our world love
above and below is our blessings
oh give us strength
love how tears flow
how life and death
are a margin of feelings
Oh, dear. How tears
are made of pain and pleasure
how tears are what we know
when we seek truth in life.
The pure hearts shall not sleep.
:: 03.22.22 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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