Do you hear me now ?

Do you hear me now ?

24 June 2018

Hear me Christian Schloe
Courtesy Christian Schloe

 

Wasted memories

Withered jasmine flowers cast

A pathway to home

 

Lilies in the pond

Roots swaying under water

Beckoning to stems

 

Yesterday’s trials

Reaching the otherworldly

Luminescent talks

 

Edge of sanity

Hovering in between worlds

Seeing the unseen

 

Ghost whispers in me

Beseeching wandering thoughts

A silent prayer

 

Sheltered happenings

Breathing into the ether

Do you hear me now ?

 

Reading of the poem: 

Adiyogi: The Source of Yoga – Original Music Video ft. Kailash Kher & Prasoon Joshi

The haunting

The haunting

20 December 2017

ghost groupon com
Courtesy groupon.com

 

She walked out on the balcony where the cool wind soothed her inflamed head as the sun slowly set down and darkness spread over the landscape. She decided it was no point thinking so much anymore. She would put an end to everything once and for all before the night was over. She went back inside fumbling in the dark for the small bottle. She felt that turning on the light and facing everything in the glaring flood of the neon would reduce her resolve to nothingness. Her cool hands felt the cylindrical shape of the small bottle and she sighed with relief. She slowly emptied the contents into her mouth drinking profusely after every handful. She felt that three handfuls should be more than enough and went back to the balcony where she sat down in the armchair and slowly let herself slip into a soundless sleep.

When they found her, her limbs were rigid and her face was expressionless with its eyes curiously staring instead of being closed. The maid who had come to wake her up had been unable to open the door and had had to get the help of some outside labourers to break it open. The funeral was quick and barely attended by anyone. Her friends like her hair had considerably thinned over time and of the few left almost none had been informed of her demise.

A couple of weeks later strange noises would emanate from her room and passers by could glimpse lights going on and off in what had been her room. The landlord dreamt of her on a nightly basis and swore that he felt she had actually visited him every time. He had felt her chilly hands reach out to his chest accusingly and could hear her saying that it was by his permission to spy on her that things had gone awry leading to her fateful demise. A few other people who had been in her entourage during the last days reported the same nightly visits and shuddered at the memory of her ghostly appearance and cold hands. Nobody could rent the house because of the strange noises and the flickering lights which scared away most of the tenants. Eventually the house was sealed up and only teenagers daring each other would visit it at night to brave the haunting.

 

Disappearance – Adam Hurst Gypsy Cello & Pipe Organ

Speak to me once

Speak to me once

26 November 2017

old woman leh-ladakh-india-portrait-old-woman-nikon-d7000-nikkor-18-105mm-deb-lahiri

 

Her hands were filthy. It seemed like the grime of a lifetime had been packed upon them. Her nails were broken and uneven and seemingly chewed upon repeatedly. Her hair was as filthy as her nails and hands and her face wore patches of filth and smears where she had attempted to cleanse it. Her outstretched hands begged for a living that was scarce to come. Sometimes she wondered whether people would give her more money if she were to be cleaner but then thought the better of it. If she were to clean herself, which would take a lot of trouble to accomplish given the lack of a stable abode, then they might simply think that she did not need the money.

She sat with her hand outstretched in front of the church every day and ostensibly holding her hand out and shaking the jug she usually left at her feet every Sunday. She had noticed that at least on Sundays she got more coins and sometimes even notes. It was as if the Sunday sermons finally reminded people of judgement day and of the need to be kind to the downtrodden whereas the rest of the days their work and other preoccupations mattered more. Sometimes on Sundays she would shuffle in after everyone had gone in for mass and sit at the back of the church listening to the sermon. While some sermons would bring tears to the eyes of the assembly, she would sit there dry-eyed, watching carefully those who let tears flow so as to insist more with them and get some coins when they were on their way out.

She did not care how she looked nor did she care what people thought of her. There was one thing that bothered her though and it was that nobody would address a word to her. It was as if by being forced to beg and looking haggard and unclean she had ceased to become a human being entitled to be part of the living, conversing human beings. She had tried once to talk to a man walking by and he had barely moved as if her voice was totally absent although he had stooped down to put a few coins in the jug in front of her. Another attempt to speak to a young woman had also gone unheard.

One Sunday on her way back to the shelter she realised that more than her lack of means and comfort, it was that human voice addressed to her that she missed the most. She felt like a ghost living in the midst of a flurry of people who hardly had the time to stop by her jug and fill it. She could hear them talk to each other but none graced her with a sentence towards her. That feeling of being a part of something bigger than just herself was what she lacked. That identification with a larger part of the population and validation as a fellow human being was what she craved for now that nobody would look upon her as equal. Her eyes brimmed with tears that blinded her. She stepped down the sidewalk.

The driver rushed out of his car to see whom he had hit. He recoiled at the sight of her bloodied dirty body sprawled at an ungainly angle on the road. Realising she was not dead he kneeled on the ground to see if he could do something. Blood was slowly leaking from her mouth and dripping to the side of her cheek. She seemed to be mumbling something so he put his ear close to her mouth. “Speak to me once”, she said. “Just talk to me like my life matters and you’re sorry”. “I am sorry”, he said. He held her hand. She smiled and closed her eyes. He felt her hand go lifeless as she slowly breathed out her last. He slowly let go of her hand as the ambulance came by to pick up her body. He wondered whether there would be someone attending her funeral and made a mental note to attend. She looked at him from behind. It felt normal now not to be looked at nor talked to.

 

Sahalé – Djiin (Original Mix)

Darkness overcome

Darkness overcome

17 May 2017

Nighttimedress deviantart com my_fire_by_andygarcia666-d7d5ghb
Courtesy Andrea Garcia on deviantart.com

 

Fires roast

Chest nut on a fork

Babies fly

Borne by stork

Kingdoms whirl and fairies lie

In the dark of woods

 

Three pigs squeal

The wolf an outpost

Chimes reveal

Senseless act

Dogs of hell brought to the heel

Silence in the ghost

 

Five seek five

In shining beehive

Gold in pound

Strikes the ground

Dissolving what mattered most

Currents see to strive

 

Souls that dread

Gloomy Hearts of lead

Wings that spread

In love fed

Morning dewdrops winding fled

In the air ahead

 

Frame alit

Spirals through the slit

Paths that split

Candlelit

Raging towards road sunlit

Twining orbs that flit

 

Minds that sum

Good bad and the glum

Fingers drum

Lips that hum

Tuning mellow days to come

Darkness overcome

 

Reading of the poem:

angelburns pinterest com celestial_fire_by_carlos_quevedo-d75uzst
Courtesy Carlos Quevedo on pinterest.com

Embrace, release – Bvdub

Everything Between You and Me – Bvdub

A History of Distance – Bvdub

Ghosts of What we Once were – Bvdub

As we remember a Life of Love – Bvdub

I Break All Around You – Bvdub

 

Twining southern sun

Twining southern sun

22 March 2017

cherry pinterest com 6
Courtesy pinterest.com

 

The birch spree

Winding cherry tree

Two to three

Time will flee

The sails spreading on the sea

Ghost fraternity

 

Clean shaven

He counts to seven

Uneven

Birds haven

The wings spread into Heaven

Ocean’s Eleven

 

Once begun

The beast slowly shun

Four to One

Reign for none

Weaving three chapters undone

Twining southern sun

 

Reading of the poem:

cherry pinterest com 7
Courtesy pinterest.com

Il Dolce Suono. From Lucia di Lammermoor – Vitas

Skyfall – Vitas

Heart | Витас – Сердце – Vitas

 

Blossoms of your breath

Blossoms of your breath

16 March 2017

desert zastavki com Girls___Models_Girl_in_a_white_dress_in_the_desert_076056_
Courtesy zastavki.com

Haughty mare

 

In riddles I bare

Heart to swear

Hard to tear

Patched through dragons entering lair

A bosom to spare

 

Soul’s delight

Gathers me insight

See the light

In twilight

When lovers breathe through the night

Bodies’ trance in flight

 

June in hay

Summer’s haunting day

Ghost of May

Sudden death

On grounds of convenience lay

Blossoms of your breath

 

Reading of the poem: 

nine justjared com 4 breathed
Courtesy justjared.com

Let’s Meet – Michelle Gurevich

Blue Eyes Unchanged – Michelle Gurevich

My familiar unfamiliar – Michelle Gurevich

In neglect

In neglect

16 March 2017

burn it digital-art gallery by Another Wanderer 1100x665_10894_Raven_2d_fantasy_girl_woman_raven_picture_image_digital_art
Courtesy Another Wanderer on digital-art gallery

 

I walk streets

A ghost of myself

Where windows

Show me doors

A wind that gathers me scoops

Jumping through the hoops

 

Together

A word to reflect

Each other

Point hither

In circles we retrospect

One for another

 

Shoot me years

Like a wishing star

Bind me scar

In neglect

Decorate me Blue tattoo

On your who is who

 

Reading of the poem: 

close gothicfaerytales com gothic-girl-and-birds-face-dark-poe-vampire-raven-crow-women-females-girls-1427639
Courtesy pinterest.com

Party Girl – Michelle Gurevich

Friday Night – Michelle Gurevich

To Be with Others – Michelle Gurevich