LET YOUR POEM MINGLE WITH OTHERS
LET YOUR POEM:
DANCE ON OUR STAGE
ANY LENGTH, ANY SUBJECT, ANY TIME
SEND YOUR WRITTEN WORK TO:email@example.com
WE WILL GLADLY POST IT HERE FOR ALL TO SEE ON OUR POETRY PLATFORM!
I once dreamt of that golden word,
Which plagues my days and haunts my nights,
A lighthouse upon boulders of fame,
Whose peripheral sea is strewn with blights.
I once dreamt of sweet, sweet success,
Till I tasted a morsel of that which I craved,
My tongue screamed Pull Back! and to this day,
I don’t really know from what I’d been saved.
I once dreamt of the top of the world,
Deeds immortalized and soul long sold,
I could, perhaps, wave at the faces below,
But for an acrophobic that’s a story untold.
I once dreamt of that V-shaped mark,
I could jot besides “SUCCESS!”
But frankly, checklists are to life,
As Checkers is to Chess.
I once dreamt of gold and glory,
Until blind ambition taught me a lesson well learned,
When the day comes that success has no name,
Only then will it be a true victory earned.
literarydoodles.wordpress.com Thanks! 😉
Enjoyment and feasting,
Building the Bhelaghar,
Pranks with the neighbour.
The morning after,
Obeisance to the God of fire,
Burning the tall Meji,
Made of bamboo and paddy.
Sunga pitha, kaath aloo,
Customary delights of Magh Bihu,
With friends and families,
Flavours of Assamese delicacies.
Geetima Baruah Sarma
Short note: Bhogali Bihu is a harvest festival of Assam, a state of north-east India. The festival is celebrated in mid-January, marking the end of the harvest season. Bhogali means feasting and enjoyment. It is also known as Magh Bihu as celebrations are held in the month of Magh, the tenth month of the Assamese calendar. On the eve known as Uruka, people gather for a community feast with friends and families. A variety of dishes that include meat and fish are cooked over wood flame. Using bamboo and paddy, a temporary hut called Bhelaghar and a tall structure known as Meji are built. Merriment continues throughout the night as youths play pranks like stealing vegetables from the neighbour’s garden. Next morning, offerings are made to the God of fire and people enjoy the traditional delicacies like sunga pitha, kaath aloo etc.
Perhaps, now is not the time I want to be unearthed.
Perhaps, I enjoy being underground.
Perhaps, I like the thrill of mystery;
Not everyone needs to know all the details.
Some words are best left unspoken,
And I like to guard my tongue; it is a very loose thing
Needing restraint against all its aims to destroy me.
Perhaps, you think I am too harsh a master,
But I need to be smart and mete out the weights.
That come in bearing my image to the world; my real self, unbridled
But quick to see the false face that arises underneath the masquerade.
Perhaps, you don’t understand it yet, or know what it means to live
In the light of reality.
So, perhaps, someday, you will learn to light the world on fire
And know the song of joy.