to Syl, my conniving other!

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by dartofabaris, Oct 27, 2010.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. dartofabaris

    dartofabaris Well-Known Member

    This is merely a merry first draft. I was staring nonplussed at my lines as they revealed, without a shadow of doubt: a motive without conscious intent, sort of nihilism with a well - defined fatelessness, hence being deterministically undeterministic, or losing meaning when you invest all time, money and energy in a wrongly idealistic love, which can only be coveted but never sought.

    will you wait until,
    there's no tomorrow?
    If i cannot age with,
    time will old instead.
    Heart! dont tuck reminices when,
    so thorned is my mould and make,
    O Syl, i cannot wake to ache!

    what worth is young love?
    in sensorial bends, delighful dins,
    frivolous pecks & yesterday's whims its cast.
    if the mind merely plays,
    in youthful years: uncouth & fast,
    why, with my hair now thinning,
    do i still shy and cower?
    O Syl! when were my hours?

    my palms are plain,
    no lines remain.
    vision does swell confound,
    as i reflect unbound.
    Pray! tis' stranger by the next hour,
    til the sullen spectre retreats,
    to its nascent shallows, sour'd.
    muled is odd relief,
    O Syl! i tire in sleep!

    i am part, you are more,
    homeless heart in a shoreless lore.
    Trapt between traversed moments,
    i never came to pass.
    Frapped fateless,
    as my note is winded -
    martyed to its wings,
    lingering, beyond the ordained intent.
    Sent seeking a lost love (- what never was, now is!)
    and now, I lose my seeking self - the one shadow;
    but it too, transcends my escape, leaving me holed.
    Faithless frivolty has been my agony,
    so i find the other fate owing to a fatelessness -
    suffering for sufferings sake,
    and so, i clamour for more of the same.
    Poised betwixt horror and harrow,
    O Syl! i sink beneath my sorrows!

    Darling Syl,
    remember for me,
    and lend me your voice,
    Even as i delve into spied sentiment,
    my pitless pith recoils,
    in its smouldered ambience i swelter;
    churns effort to stolid vapour.
    and so my ears are all ears,
    to your words choic'd.
    O Syl! do lend me your lost voice!

    shall we meet in some elysian dense,
    far away from minds that think,
    & hearts that dance?
    and further from our own, dispensed?
    you once said: if found, it can never be lost,
    then why, as i breathe your scented air,
    do my finger tips forget your touch?
    O Syl! i long thee much!
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.