DSJunePoetry

AT THE BEND.

At the bend of the road

A variant lizard basking

Approaching a golden mask

Created by the galloping sun.

The scenic valley cut in two

By bulldozers and their men

Where hills learned to smoke

The mounds of dug out earth.

Thousands of vehicles pass

Marring all beauty with

Pollution and music

Of the merry mechanics

The noisy humanity speaks.

At the bend of the road

A lizard basking

And is not very impressed

With grandeur of constructions

Or the works of missioned men.

Woven By Sunsets.

Woven by sunsets

She sharpens her claws

To take revenge on victims

To prove her ability to storm.

Broken charade of her life

Concealed under glance of beauty

A beauty that soon be fading

Turning skeletons of bare bones.

I wish she had fester feeling

To see high seas or starry nights

The lone pathways of her mind

Wish could whisper into her pains

Sorrel advent of some new dawn.

Her claws are sharp

Her teeth are blood soaked

She would never command

Some chilling call for intimacy.

Only the empty ego

Of her awakenings

Will rule over stubbornness

And all her artless meanderings

May end in wanton wilderness.

SO MANY FACES.

So many faces in the mirror

So many strangers in view

Long forgotten projects

Traveled in foreign lands.

Half forgotten affairs of heart

Women who will never know

Some subtlety to comprehend

Immensity of tenderness

Sufficed by angry tears.

High afternoons of boredom

Shadowy depressions of dreams

Elucidation into some high art

Negligence to life in repute

All undertaken in dark moorings

Between folds of limpid muddy sun.

Pale stricken dead leaves

Broken words & deaden smiles

Crumbling letters when salvaged

Ever became somewhat futile.

Durlabh Singh: I am a poet resident in London, England and have been published widely
in over 300 publications worldwide.
My latest book of collected verse is CHROME RED ( ISBN 1898030464).