DARKNESS | LORD BYRON

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum’d,
And men were gather’d round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other’s face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;
Forests were set on fire—but hour by hour
They fell and faded—and the crackling trunks
Extinguish’d with a crash—and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil’d;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d
And twin’d themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless—they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought—and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails—men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour’d,
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur’d their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer’d not with a caress—he died.
The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak’d up,
And shivering scrap’d with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died—
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless—
A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr’d within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp’d
They slept on the abyss without a surge—
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir’d before;
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them—She was the Universe.


Selected MUST READ BOOKS OF LORD BYRON

The Complete Works of Lord Byron: Including His Suppressed Poems, and Others Never Before Published; Volume 1

“The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!” | John Keats

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,
Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist!
Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise –
Vanish’d unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday – or holinight
Of fragrant-curtain’d love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight,
But, as I’ve read love’s missal through to-day,
He’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

source: Poetry Foundation


Books in Focus

Kasturi | Poem Series | Part 1

Two ends of a sphere,
Me and my Heart.

One lives with me,
one lost
to never found me again.

When I recall sometimes,
of my heart,
a fragrance of ‘Kasturi’ smells everywhere,
when couldn’t find it,
i sit in solace.

In the night,
when memories sears me apart,
i think of my heart.
A heart which could’ve been here now,
but it isn’t here.

Every thought of lost heart,
which comes
with the thoughts of her,
is like the mild wind of summers,
or, like a shade to me,
for I’ve been burning in the sun,
whole my life.

She wasn’t a part of me,
never she was.
I never loved her,
never did she.
I never asked her,
never she said.

But

She never left me,
never she did.
she stays in me,
and in my memory,
Like a masterpiece
of the time.

Kasturi – Meaning ‘Musk’ – Ornamentally “Smell rare to find”.

(To be continued…….)


Books in Focus


Poetry | Less Human than Human

We have always been less human than human,
In the glare of pathetic greed, we are leading,
Like never before, or like every Single time.

There isn’t any sign of togetherness,
Good deeds, a better past, or our glory,
If there is, it’s rare, so we share.
Shamelessly.

We don’t deserve what we have,
What’s bad is caused by us.
Despite we have been gifted enough,
We never cared enough.
I can’t cry for the humanity,
Coz, I never found it,
not in me, not in anyone.

But,
When a mother dies,
Her child in the womb,
Burnt in her life-giving shed,
It ruins every single existence.

Now, when it turns out,
You burnt her,
You killed her,
You did it for nothing,
Or for whatever.

When I consider myself,
as Human, as they, who did this,
this feeling of life touches
the shame of my existence.

The thoughts, the feelings,
You couldn’t feel, neither she could tell.
but the mud she painted on our human face,
will never fadeaway.

May God gift you to a better world.
“In the shameful existence of mine,
I write.”

The Misery of Pain

In the misery of pain,
the hurt beliefs of life,
never fought to forget,
What was causing it.

Never went for the fight,
Never stood to the right,
sitting in corner of the world,
Never spoke about the tides,
Which’re making him sank,
day by day.


The drops of fog

Writing on leaves,
the drops of fog
some sublime poetries,
of life & lies,
burning and dying,
true love in the eyes.

Escaping from the arms of clouds,
falling to the surface of grounds,
it cools the heat all around.

Scattered onto the soil,
it asks for an another life.
a life of time, for a lifetime,
nothing it says, but denies.

A Life with Lenity

Whimpers in the maze of tough thoughts,
A life with lenity.
A thought of seeking coincidence,
With wondrous epiphany.

A morning that seeks night,
But couldn’t.
A night that seeks dawn,
But couldn’t.

It stays within,
And asks quietly,
Whether you’re,
what you are
or not??

When not heard,
It stays where it belongs,
Like a snail in its shell.

First Love

The way she passed the bridge of my memory,
I lost my way out of the senses.
The lights of courage in me was diminished,
Flaunted by the winds of first love.

Her gaze of glitters stared at me,
Like she holds secrecy of wings,
A breath that dissolved in me,
felt like a fragrance of undiscovered life.

I hated being intimated my own thoughts,
But it does happen to me,
Like a life that was not the same ever since.

She could have seen me,
A glimpse of me to her,
Or a never-ending gaze,
Could be something there,
I must have done,
But that moment of love,
Is a love that loses to win.

A Masterpiece

Sitting besides the blue-ish river of Atlanta,
Staring, the filled sky with grains,
Glittering in the nights.
He beseeches for a masterpiece.

A thought, that can change,
his life, before, it ends.

Carving, through the muds of soil,
he began his journey of life.

Some emotions, like an ocean,
with devotion, and his imagination,
created some wonderful creations.

Dolls, to play with,
Sculptures, to decor with,
Utensils, to cook and eat with.
Love and emotions put into it,
to live with.

Paving ways to the thirst of his creativity,
to accomplish, its starvation,
to achieve its thoughts, of giving life,
life to the cluster of soil and water.

Now scattered, within itself,
asks for relief, in search of something,
a masterpiece,
to mark his name,
in the history of this world.

Never found, was a masterpiece.
Found, was never a masterpiece.
Life squanders, to a limitless,
infinite, search for the pearls.

Never seen but catching,
Attentions of all, calling,
hidden inside,
deep and within,
the structured, boundaries of flesh,
Craving, is a masterpiece.

Ashes of Thoughts

Stays somewhere,
little ashes of thoughts,
dawning in the middle
of some stray stars,
alone but surrounded,
by meaningless bushes
of burdens.

A walking thought,
starts running,
on some unknown roads.
irritated, hopelessly,
trying to escape,
from all the realities,
that caused enough.

A howling truth,
begins to kill,
every breathe in the flesh.
like an enemy,
of its own.

Hope, a myth,
breaking and germinating again,
and at last,
betrays us all,
a life stays with hope,
and dies, in hope.