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 Mar 2017 K Balachandran
K Mae
crested crag-spines rising
bones fierce of ancient dragons
calling out to Naga
~~~~~~~~~
Return
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bloom  feminine essence, Flow !
Feed my ancient undulations

wearied now to hills
sighing down with last exhaled
memory of color
washed, washed,
baked by endless sun
How callously this day has come and gone,
Though hoped for, no gifts did it bring to me;
The sun reluctantly announced the dawn,
Not one bird could I find to sing to me

No matter the path, I walked it in vain,
No one offered a kind word nor a smile,
A cheerful spirit was hard to maintain
And became burdensome after a while

Strolling my garden I sought solace there,
While gathering roses, thorns pricked my finger,
Hopelessness and woe hung thick in the air,
With dusk at hand, I chose not to linger

O, the searing pain of being alone,
Doubting, while yet hoping love might find me;
But this day failed me and can not atone
For all these hopeless longings that bind me

I shall not forget nor forgive this day,
Such neglect saddens and tortures my night,
And this chaplet of misery shall lay
Upon my heart like a perilous blight

Contemplating Love's banquet of delights,
I greet each morn with new hope in my heart;
But a thousand days and as many nights
Saw my dreams perish and watched Hope depart

Too long my lonely laments have been sung,
Do I demand too much when I implore
Love's blessing before my death knell is rung?
(This granted, I would ask for nothing more)

"Tomorrow Love will come - be not concerned"
Hope softly sighs.   But my senses are numb.
And yet, as the page from Life's book is turned,
Once again to Hope's deceit I succumb
Almost two years ago I wrote about how he told me
that we always had to question ourselves,

Almost two years later I read about the works of
Descartes, Aristotle, and other influential philosophers,



I begin to question all I know,
from whether the finger I write with writes what I or what it wants,

I’m skeptical of whether I am;
If I am, why? Why me?

I also realise how irrelevant it is
for me to worry about feelings and love and pain,

Almost two years ago I wrote daily
about myself as an object with experience

Now I write with skepticism
What’s the point anyways?
Currently discovering that studying for my philosophy exam makes me want to procrastinate, go figure
Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light

brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea

restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges

returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas

in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists

like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream

Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us

one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits

the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current

follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound
Hello and thank you. my HP friends!  I couldn't wish for a kinder, more talented group of people to spend time with.  Thank you for being a part of my life.  Apologies for sporadic reading...been drinking too many margaritas!
: )
I am a thriving survivor
Though twice betrayed and abandoned
Often been lied to and cheated
Plutoed*, fired, hired then mistreated
Struggled getting up off the couch
Alienation caused self-doubt
For this thriving survivor

Release all the hurt and slander
To that past I will not pander
Determined to walk through the door
To a life with so much in store
For this thriving survivor
Trying my hand at the Rondine poetic form: #12 lines in #2 verses- with #7 lines in the 1st, #5 lines in the 2nd, consisting of 8-10 syllables for each except the refrain, or repeat of, part of the 1st line.  Awaiting feedback if I got the form right or not.  *demoted
The intertwined branches of the
woods are brown...
There is not a song in far away lands
The scarf has pain
Knitting veil from my hair
The trees are repetitive to me
I see a man, green
Having no woman next to him

شاخه هاشان در هم تنیده
...چوب ها قهوه ایست
دوردست ها آوازی ندارد
روسری درد می کشد
از موهایم حجاب می بافد
درختان برایم تکرار اند
من
مردی سبز را می بینم
...که زنی در کنارش ندارد
 Mar 2017 K Balachandran
Isabelle
I can tell you all my secrets
I can love and make love to you
I can boldly call you mine
All this I can do, only in poetry
Reality in poetry. All the things I wanted to tell you, my outlet of emotions. What do I do without you..
 Mar 2017 K Balachandran
Isabelle
She paints what love is
A burning red, it's her blood
And it drains her out
Love will drain you out.
Yesterday I was de sun
All light and warmth
came from within.
Today I´m but a ghost
people walk through me
both of us barely conscious
of the touch.
How I´ve changed...
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