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The way is strewn with remnants of a storm
shame is the colour of a dove dipped in purple long afternoons huddled in a dark corner endless nights wrapped in chills of December mornings when the sun does not rise nights when the moonbeams are acid streak the deep dense abyss of sinking and drowning forget the asbestos of tangled toxic thoughts hammer away the granite of a hardened hurt there is a badgering sound inside your head there is a reminiscence filled with regret drown the cataclysmic sound of loneliness the world is at a dead end in the forest of hell someone somewhere is ringing the death knell don't look up, the way is not in the sky don't look down, the road is not in earth's eye the long landscape of seismic 'how' and 'why" whispers, you have soft feathers, learn to fly. © Jaspreet Mann
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Thank you for passing through my words and leaving beautiful messages of love & appreciation. Your feelings and responses are my guardian angels. My words are beautiful because you are beautiful. Thank you. 🙏🏻 ✍🏻I have often wondered if you read my poems with your heart or your eyes
if the margins of my pages dissolve in the eternities of your solitary skies if my words walk hand in hand with your syllables that murmur sweet nothings if my verses explode like landmines in the dormant regions of your head if my punctuation pauses the rhythm of your thoughts that are vacant or dead. I have often wondered if you read my poems with your heart or your eyes if the meaning of my prologues and epilogues sync with the past and future of your sighs if the passages of darkness haunt the deep dark recesses lurking in your wilderness if my sentences collide with the reason and logic of your seasoned mind if my paragraphs end in the parenthesis of prayers you whisper for the entire mankind. I have often wondered if you read my poems with your heart or your eyes if the breathlessness of my strangled voice melts in the sound of your dismal nights if my unfulfilled dreams resound in the corridors of your endless sunrise if my untangled tears drench the whorls of roses blooming on your brownstone if my loneliness talks in whispers to the soft grass of your heart when you are alone. © Jaspreet Mann When days are cauterized
there is a long spell unreadable lines on the forehead translate the echoes of loneliness Frank Sinatra sings, 'all of me' burning bridges of eternity the heart of an Indian sage reaches out to destiny a flower becomes a lotus a lotus becomes a rose the murky waters of a lake have vermilion ash spilled on its surface a woman wakes inside its dampness a hundred revolutions are written on the edges of her face. © Jaspreet Mann She is a Jazz song
a ballad behind eight bars the back-beat of a heavy heart her tears are a bridge her eyes are a channel she does not know where she goes she goes where she does not belong those chops, those chords that close voicing in a musician's laugh in a dimly lit corner, she is counting off the cross rhythm of her Jazz song It's dot time, a woman crosses the line into the diminished triad of her shrine the hipster intrudes her inner voice the dark interlude is a choice. She is a Jazz song eighth to the bar waiting for the extensions of a star she can jump, she can jive with the 'jitterbug' of a petite knife she can read the lead sheet at forty five the song is alive, the song can survive the pattern of her fall is a lie the riff of her poetry is her sky in the progression of her stride her woodshed is her life. She is a Jazz song a tenor of truth a timbre of love a tune of loneliness a tango of distress a tape loop of mess. She is a Jazz song her song is right, but she is wrong. © Jaspreet Mann A woman lives beneath stalactites
on a long ledge of sharpened knives her psychosis is the color of aching envy her fear is the scent of impossible escape her love is a pigeon trapped in black blaze she flutters her broken wings in a daze the lopsided world disappears in a haze. © Jaspreet Mann Your heart is a melting lake of light Your eyes usher golden sunshine temples, monasteries, synagogues sleep inside your sacred palm lines You listen, you weep, you keep the harbor of your hunger asleep You forgive, you caress, you bless the lost continents of dark distress the air, the sky, the sea stars of life walk bare feet in sacred scriptures You write in the spell of your strife Your love is a resilient returning wave no matter what morning, what night, echoes of your words are lithographs set in the gold mosaic of paradise To the God who makes wind chimes of every tear that falls from my eyes know that roses bloom whenever the wind carries your sublime rhymes. © Jaspreet Mann  Sketch by artist Winston Davis My father always said that there is a loneliness that exists in each luminescence- a string that goes round and round tying and untying thoughts, and somewhere in that whorl of loneliness we find ourselves. It is at this time that a human being questions the very foundation of his existence and an existential crisis looks him in the eye. Who am I? What is the purpose of my existence? What is the meaning of my life? These questions appear simple, but when one starts delving into the depths of their complexity, one begins to see the realities of life. Life and death become rays falling gently on shining midnight waters. All of a sudden you are a philosopher brushing shoulders with Aristotle finding answers to your existence.
We live in fear
of the unknown of the uncertain of battles looming in the horizon of roads that go nowhere We live in fear of the unfolded of the unwrapped of tides unsurfed and unmapped of the heart in despair We live in fear of the unopened window of the closed door And, one day, we are no more. © Jaspreet Mann |
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