Apocalyptic Moon
I asked the moon,
pale and dreary,
Where in your honey-dripping shine they sprout;
These blood-sniffing beasts,
Nocturnal ever?
Whispered unto me then the moon,
A melancholy, an unlikely alibi;
Nay, not me, they were littered in shadows,
That dripped unto their veins thus conceit and poison.
Nay, not me, they were littered in shadows,
out of my grip, away from my shine.
I asked again the moon,
pale and dreary,
Laden with apprehension
And hope so frail:
O' Moon! What do they see in you then,
These blood-sniffing beasts,
Littered in shadows,
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poem by Bhanu Padmo
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The Corer
Like coagulant poetry,
This congealed core of universe,
Became the spider,
Multi-dimensional as it grew;
In the form of a great web,
Masquerading as heavy matter,
Of condensed time,
Of condensed memory,
Like coagulant poetry,
This congealed core of universe.
Like curdled helium,
Amidst thin hydrogen left behind,
Bubbles and illusions,
To be the center of Sun,
Like coagulant poetry,
To be the solar spider.
We in this congealed core of universe,
Effervesce no longer;
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poem by Bhanu Padmo
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Tale of Freedom
Mourning own ashes,
Sorrowing over freedom,
Long-awaited and wholly missed,
The shooting star did seek
Redemption of existence;
To redeem the tale of freedom,
Much remembered, long-awaited.
To the fallen star spoke thus
The configured multitude,
The fixed stars of high heavens;
Reeking of self-pity.
The stars spoke thus:
O Shooting star, burnt and bygone,
Star-dust you quit,
Oblivious of bonded freedom.
Boundless freedom you chose,
A fallacy though at length to be.
To the fallen star spoke thus
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poem by Bhanu Padmo
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