The Daily Fret;Stanza 11.

Near Life Experiences.

A momentary pause;

It seemed to me,

And moments paused;

Can for ever be.

And in this stream,

That flows between,

Two pauses such,

That much do seem.

Indifferent strangers,

Whose wait does lean,

In frequent glances,

 As if the gleam-

Of ticking hands,

Of time would deem,

How near life,

This leap had been...

The Purple Sunbird,Cinnyris asiaticus.

The Daily Fret; Stanza 10

Cul-de-sacs

Cul-de-sacs

In shadows lie

Awaiting light

To rub their eyes

Dry

Brick and mortar

Strained from rote

Minds numb

And voices

Hoarse

Fickle beams

Through journeys dogged

Visions become

For someone

Touched

An absence

In silence mute

Stands unseen

Biding grains to run or

Fly

Cul de sacs

The mortar and brick

Tickle beams fickle

An absent game

Shadows laze

Their memories jogged

Their journeys dogged

Voices mute do not talk

Light descend

On thoughts dismayed

That dream no more

And will fade away

Eyes are home

To what darkness calls

Proof of life

The waiting game

That words in sand

Would talking thus

Hold handsFrom dust to dust

The Daily Fret;Stanza 9

Bargains rushed

Memories sifting,

Often tore-

Dreams too old,

To let it pour.

To heart absolving,

In a loving whore;

Who takes it all,

Like another lore.

With sidelong glances,

At half closed doors,

And absent stares,

At mostly floors.

Where scattered lives,

Like rags from chores,

Do passing fret,

For passions sore.

But bargains rushed,

Do rest best sure;

For love's price,

Is a little more…

The Daily Fret;Stanza 8

Metaphors

Vagrant ways-

Are ever sought,

And fancy words,

For random thoughts;

In glances scattered,

That meet do not,

But thrown enough,

Like little sparks.

In life's alleys,

That grim and stark,

To speeding lives,

Do seem a lot;

Like a blur most,

Where seems the past,

And future's rush,

On headlong paths-

Where traffic corners,

Scream yellow dots,

From red smug ,

That green so sought;

For winking sly;

Our games are fraught,

In dot to dots,

Or cross and naughts…

The Daily Fret; Stanza 7.

Black & White

 

Fates shards,

Like rolling dice,

Were brilliant laid,

Black on white.

That coloured life’s,

Own seething light;

Myriad hues ,

That bled did bright.

And shone in too,

So much that night,

Did pleasant stage,

The drama slight.

Of flitting shadows,

Across the screen,

A flickering image,

From a movie reel.

With crackled sound,

From a radio beam,

That streamed a story,

Of what has been.

A fiction once,

That history seemed;

That told much tales,
To be redeemed;

In sundry rhymes,

In virtual streams,

In chatting man,

In divine dreams…

The Daily Fret; Stanza 6

Walking Shadows

Walking shadows,

I often liked;

To take them out,

On darkish nights.

With shimmering shards,

To quiet guide,

In darkened hours,

When night is nigh.

And sculpted thus,

With twinkling light,

That burned afar,

Yet never lied.

And myriad shades,

In angles slight;

Made them more,

With longing lights.

For blooming caught,

In darkened eyes,

The blackest hopes,

See bluest skies.

And hope that clay,

That flesh of night,

Would mark their love,

And shine just bright.

In a world that lives,

So halved by sight,

With dark do fill,

We empty light.

To search then most,

A hope that might,

To see form fulfilled,

In shadows slight...

The Daily Fret; Stanza 5

Points of View
 

Words running,

Did often slip,

And in chasms,

Did endless get;

Lost some say,

But rather glib,

i found their jeer,

And grin with it.

And smugly too,

Like polished nibs,

Gleamed the ink,

Of life they writ;

With blood so blue,

That once dipped,

All seas and skies,

Immersed in it.

But some said,

Were troubled bits;

For eyes weak,

Were bound to flit-

To horizons lines,

To quickly fit,

The points of views,

That came to sit;

That blurry sight,

In half jest and wit,

Said twinkled stars,

By just being lit…

Agnostic Gods

Words be quick;

Little candlesticks,

That hung head first,

Are duly lit.

And dark no more,

Though dimly bit,

The grainy life,

Does flickering flit.

Playing with void,

And as if it,

Seems no more,

And does exist.

For caught in glare,

It does admit,

That simply dark,

Is always hid;

From patient eyes,

That grope for bits;

Scavenging faith,

And not just sit.

Like agnostic Gods,

Who though had writ,

In smouldering stars,

Of how be lit;

A world fair,

But now just sit,

And eternal gaze,

At what they've quit...

 The Daily Fret; Stanza 4, for 4 Mar 12.

Lonely Ghosts

 ...And dying still

Did wonder most,

Why remembered less;

And amnesic ghost-

Was the last wish,

That one could post,

Before the living raised,

Their loving toast.

To send one's way,

On the far-ish coast,

Where none do come,

And never hope.

For dreams are made,

Enroute  en-course,

And to eternal last,

Is one so forced.

For days shall pass,

In waking hoarse,

And insomnic eyes,

Won't ever close.

For deadmen too,

Do have some woe,

But formless beings,

Dont get to show-

How raging hearts,

Clutch memory's ghosts,

And a waiting game,

Is what kills us most...

*The Daily Fret, Stanza 3

Setting Course

 

Thank Lord for signs;

They led me straight,

On brink's path,

One's never late.

We often fear,

And rush the gates,

Lest brewing time;

Shuns obligates-

Who know it all,

But cannot say,

For lips are pursed,

And price is paid.

To ashen minds,

The terms are laid,

And measured most,

Are salty baits.

Of time's sands,

That loosely braids,

Life's necklace,

To embrace our fates;

On restless shores,

That never gave,

The ocean sore,

Their hope to save-

A voyage last,

On endless days,

Where setting sun,

Would sigh and say.

That though am lost,

To another wave,

Just watch the skies,

Your path to pave.

And from fires set,

Do chart your ways,

For oceans black,

Just let those rays;

To twinkle tell,

when one would may,

Just squint blind,

And rather pray.

For random stars,

In moments grey,

when darks nigh,

Do often say-

How ascendent skies,

Are just the frey,

where lost long,

And burned have they...

*this is against 2 March, unfortunately couldn't be posted yesterday.
it's hence the 2nd installment of the "Daily Fret".

Stargazing

Sun’s footsteps;

They leave a trace,

On skies burnt-

Gleams their faith.

What heavens thought;

But lie do waste,

And now but seem,

Just scattered haste.

And looking down,

A frowning face;

To upward prayers,

That people paste-

On skies above,

In hours late,

When lonesome seems,

The darkened cape.

That takes so close,

In an embrace,

While embers warm,

We sit and trace;

To etch our own,

Lost winsome ways,

On shooting stars,

Or some godly face-

With all our suns,

That couldn’t make;

An eternal skim,

On life’s lake.

But rolling went,

To deeper stakes;

From fetched no more,

Are ever wake.

And hoping thus-

To skies do take,

And like embers light;

Their lonely wait…

PS~ This bird is the Oriental White Eye, Zosterops palpebrosus in action... :)

*posting in the nick of time tonight...i hope the Daily Fret is now begun... :)