Skip to main content

Untitled - a poem



Clinging to strange lands set
my native fears free
burying the known I’ve let
the unknowns ravage me

The only truth I’ve hit
Were souls others had tried
Someone’s pains slit
Inter-twined with mine

There’s nothing to despair
My contemplation drafts –
There’s nothing to repair
It’s broken from the start

I’m tired of the swinging
And death-ness and the stings
There’s no meaning in -no-thing-
Until your loveliness sings

- Proma
Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
The brevity of your text is a facade for strong emotional ties with your homeland. Perhaps the pain and despondence are linked with a long absence from the bustling, happening streets of your past. Time is a line for some...a circle for others...where the past becomes the future and the present is what defines time itself.
April 21, 2007 at 11:13 PM
Proma said…
thanks anon - i do tend to write condense poetry - brevity is the right word
April 22, 2007 at 6:55 AM
Anonymous said…
I was like "Who's anon?" for a second there :)

Do you consciously stay away from flamboyant words and passages? Most Indian writers I follow have a complex writing style both from a vocabulary perspective and from a content perspective. While the content in your work is there...just hidden away, the vocabulary is simple. I understand you are a mother as well and as someone who has spent a lot of time with children, I speak from experience that it does influence your language and your behavior.

Anyway - great Blog. Perhaps I'll get one of my own started and invite you in for a cuppa tea ;)

Cheers!
April 22, 2007 at 9:00 AM
Proma said…
cool , I love tea !
April 22, 2007 at 9:51 AM
Vivek Sharma said…
Interesting poem: packed with powerful emotion, and yet with cliched expressions (perhaps when opening stanza is so promising, the expectations are higher).

the poem is quite precise though, and maybe would flow better in free verse.

hope to see more verses from you.
April 26, 2007 at 9:17 AM
Proma said…
Vivek : Thanks, you'd see a lot more verse soon.
April 26, 2007 at 6:09 PM
GS said…
http://gs-synchronicity.blogspot.com/

This is "Anon" - Got my blog up. It is very different from what you write...but keep writing - Short poems are da bomb! :)
May 2, 2007 at 11:30 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Faraway

Like a rose without water I will age deep vermillion and scentless. Your love I will keep like white envelopes from the past unopened under my sandal-scented bed. It is not memories that the mention of your name reminds. But a whole universe that I sometimes see when I sit and watch snow melt outside my window. Two drops of jasmine oil and two words later I remind myself this is only a poem and you distant, like a faraway place I want to visit. And say goodbye once again.
19 comments
Read more

Chemistry

I want your eyes to warm up to my tender glance and lips to return the favor of a chance. I want your hands to feel the hardworking hands of mine vein by vein pulse by pulse beat by beat. When my body energy learns to swim to the flow of yours. When my fears disappear  to your loving touch-  When my world moves at your pace my bends fit into yours Simplifying - a complicated maze. When my every pause is met with another begin, no journey ever ends in that perfect place. -Proma Ray
17 comments
Read more

The Compromise (Part 1)

-June 21st, 2007 -2:00pm -Somewhere between Atlanta and Savannah, GA Eric Cohen stopped the car and let his head out through the window. Not a single car could be seen within a mile’s radius. The Sun’s brutal rays fell sharply over his balding head. He was blinded for the split second before he puked, for the third time. Puking felt good momentarily. But then Eric was too high to enjoy the release fully. His head was like a dead washing machine not even trying to start itself. He sat back straight on his seat wiping his mouth with Kleenex. As he put his hands on the wheel again, the churn in his stomach returned. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing. Not even the strongest joint he had ever fixed in his life. Three minutes passed. Three very long minutes. Eric wanted to start the engine. He really did. And intermittently between the clouded nirvanas, he thought that he actually could . He had been feeling this way for weeks now. And especially when he was high on m...
8 comments
Read more