INK

In chaos, my world collapses,

My pen drops,

A wound on my ring finger,

Betrayed …

By my lover,

An ironic wasteland is my heart,

Dumped …

Love loses its eulogy,

Fragmented…

In a puzzle chemistry,

Poets run out of verses,

Tumbled…

Face down in infamy;

Suddenly,

Out of nowhere,

Loose petals of words,

Fall in cascades,

Cover my lifeless body,

Awakened…

From the torpor

Of self imposed penalty,

Wet…

Under the mosquito net,

Stained…

My bed linen,

With ink from your pen !

Anita Bacha

Writer’s note -The first half was complete but followed a systematic writer’s ( or lover’s) block. One sentence “do not let go of my hand” was all I needed to dip the nib of my pen in the ink pot of the vast ocean of  Love and write…

 

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LEONARD COHEN

Just learnt about the passing of  Leonard Cohen,the Canadian poet, singer and song writer at the age of 85. By mere coincidence, I purchased his poetry book ‘book of longing’ from W.H.Smith last month in Wood Green, London. Since then, I am reading his book every day,little by little, to make it last. ‘book of longing’ is exceptional, easy to read, funny, poetic,romantic, spiritual, sad and sensual. I find myself, my soul in this book…a great loss for the world of poetry…

Frise Bas Perle

NIGHTINGALE

I BUILT MY HOUSE BESIDE THE WOOD

SO I COULD HEAR YOU SINGING

AND IT WAS SWEET AND IT WAS GOOD

AND LOVE WAS ALL BEGINNING

FARE THEE WELL MY NIGHTINGALE

‘TWAS LONG AGO I FOUND YOU

NOW ALL YOUR SONGS OF BEAUTY FAIL

THE FOREST CLOSES’ROUND YOU

THE SUN GOES DOWN BEHIND A VEIL

‘TIS NOW THAT YOU WOULD CALL ME

SO REST IN PEACE MY NIGHTINGALE

BENEATH YOUR BRANCH OF HOLLY

FARE THEE WELL MY NIGHTINGALE

I LIVED BUT TO BE NEAR YOU

THOUGH YOU ARE SINGING SOMEWHERE STILL

I CAN NO LONGER HEAR YOU

LEONARD COHEN