Pastoral

Dark green arrows pierce each drop 

Of glistening snow that remains still,

Suspended over dark brown branches

Prickly and barren;

Each bud awaits

The poet's soft breath

To tickle it into being;

A shining, glorious day awaits

And bends those top-heavy branches

It will be beautiful

What could she have thought

When she scraped the bark, brown and deep,

Engraved with names of ancient lovers,

Witness to her 'crime'?

The suspended drops finally fell,

Disturbed from their rest

Of systematic natural slaughter,

They glistened on her face,

Lighting it,

Revealing the unshed glory of her terror;

she tasted them:

They tasted of joy,

And of goodbye,

Mingling with her blood again–

given for what she used to call love;

A crumpled scarf and a tattered body

now rejoin the melting snow,

Dying it scarlet

© Geetakshi Arora

March 25, 2014

Layered Stones

Trapping eddies laugh to themselves

when meaningful trifles get lost to infinity;

A vast expanse of disguised monotony

trips on itself

in its race to gaze with solemnity.

A small tear engulfs

this world with its deformed pain:

A blinking light darkens to reveal itself,

flashing dreams in monochrome 

darkness;

And a heart breaks

with an indifferent empathy

and a cracked whisper:

Silent, unmourned, insatiable.

©Geetakshi Arora

March 11, 2014

Patterns

Crystalline waves gaze wistfully

At fluid laughter floating through

glasses bubbling orange and red,

Reflected sunlight seems to be reflective tonight;

Solemn rays of the last light

Seem to be profound

It is an exercise wasted on some,

And some laugh drily,

Acknowledging kinship;

Billions of light years away,

Something gazes back

Unknown,

As unfulfilled,

Fragile as a dream;

Beautiful as a star from afar.

© Geetakshi Arora

March 3, 2014

Reflections

No more mirrors exist

to complicate or communicate,

Memories of crystalline, icy shards

disappear as each slices through

a dying nerve,

where cold, sluggish blood flows still;

Each step a march against itself

and thoughts crowd a sleeping mind:

the first wind of february spring,

that overrated kiss in the rain,

coveted hugs that remain incomplete,

and those daily trips to a world of pain;

these thoughts and more crowd,

jostling each other for space

as if the sleeping mind were a tiny room

closing in upon itself,

rooting to lose something

it took years to build;

Destroyed blocks remain estranged

waiting to be called to life

by a sluggish vein–

A successful play at last;

A glint of steel:

It's uncomplicated.

©Geetakshi Arora

February 20, 2014

Wasted Flames

Burning in anguish,

it awaits its time;

A beggar yearns for food

for years before it dies;

Fake water is never enough,

It is but a reflection

of tattered hearts

that astound none but

the fated face looking outside;

Royal mansions are unworthy of souls 

that yearn for butterflies

and green caterpillars on yellow leaves;

The fire sweeps away everything,

consuming itself in a flame that used to be burnished gold:

It is a mere dyed orange now;

Now it is polluted with grey soot 

from burning bones;

Mere charcoal,

mere memories:

Dispensable;

Forgotten

©Geetakshi Arora

February 9, 2014

Linear Shift

Lines and dots

are matters of perspective;

Storms can be liberating

and peace deceptive;

With harsh words,

love can sometimes be expressed;

And with gentle creativeness, 

worlds can be destroyed:

It takes a word

by something powerful

to cause fires:

Bodies walk across bridges

looking relentlessly forward with vacant eyes,

yearning for something familiar,

yearning for something

to call their own:

A home (even a make-shift one),

a place to rest.

Bloodshot eyes,

gaze ahead,

quite drained of tears

from years of cumulative agony:

Safely trapped in prisons of love

© Geetakshi Arora

January 27, 2014