Contemplative poems

Contemplative poems — a collection of the best works on PoemShip.

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Cyrelle Campbell

* * *

i know i can be alone. i can survive the pain alone. i can feel the happiness alone. having you around is comforting. it's nice to not be by myself. but don't overstep your place. because i know i can be alone. fear

Cynthia Arafa

Painted Pictures

There's a truth in a painted picture of grass, as it's sways aside to reveal secrets. In poppies that grow bittersweet red and black, that drank the sorrow and tried to forget. To dancing fields that grow from years of crushed, decaying, pitiful lives, to form those magnifiscent oceans of cerulean upon gold. Truths that cascade over storms, rushes to help those caught in the betraying winds and cold. There's a glistening truth in all sadness

Craig Rozniecki

A Piece of Paper

What you work for, What you all need, Unable to fully function, Unable to live without me, To go out and eat, Drink at a bar, To rent a house, Own a car, To raise your kids, Provide them education, To give them shelter, Provide them opportunity, Causing you great stress, Providing you tremendous joy, Able to destroy your life, Able to make you see another day,

Balachandran V

Really

Isn’t it a pleasure To offer succor? Oh yes, we are so genuine, Touched to the heart Feeling, we say, the same pain and sorrow Though sometimes I wonder if we really do. Be it death or a lesser misfortune We condole, condemn the flippancy of fate That dealt our kith or kin this cruelest blow. Yet, I wonder, is it regret or relief That predominates our minds Regret for them and secretly, guiltily, Relief that we have been spared for now? My friend says – ‘Take it easy! Be cool! Heavens won’t come falling down!’ I take a deep breath; try to loosen my facial muscles

Balachandran V

Homeland

Far away, beyond the green paddy fields Beyond the thatched huts and palm tops A hazy gray blending into darker black Touching the shimmering white clouds Mountains stand like sentinels. It has been raining here; the leaves Underfoot bear my weight in silence. I pause – leeches, wriggling, reach out And clamber up my legs; a flutter in the woods – A bird? A boar? A deer? Who is it that I disturbed? In the deep forests, everything is dark and moist. Steam unfurls in the scattering sunlight. Silently, I watch – across the ridge, a rock shifts – In awe, with love, oh with so much love, a tusker in sight. Above my head, Minivets, Scarlet, like flashes of fire.

Balachandran V

The Scheme of Things

At the traffic signal, I crawl up Next to my friend's Mercedes My thirty-three year old scooter Hardly one-fourth its length. My friend, his business worth crores Puts down his Blackberry on the table Beside my five-year old Nokia, Scratched, scarred, and shoddy. He hugs me, his cologne- laced shirt Wrinkles its nose At my faded cotton - It tries to hide the button-less hole. He said how, one day He had this vision of a huge Banyan-like tree Ants marching, monkeys jumping Birds singing

Balachandran V

Belief

I am listening. The loudest, the most persistent is the hum of the ceiling fan. Cawing crows Horning cars, rumbling trucks Voices from across the street Parvati moving about in the next room - And the slow intake of breath into my lungs. I turn my ears inward. Conscious of myself tapping at the keyboard The cursor blinking. The little black line, going on and off On and off, on and off And waiting, patient. I am emptying my mind – or so I would like to believe.

Balachandran V

An evening in winter

It was dusk outside; inside the long hall Dinner was set; candles lit. Away, from the end of the corridor Twilight fell softly across the floor. At the other end, a door opened To a patch of sky and a green-capped tree. In the hall, alone at the table, I sat Staring at the food I really didn’t see. I didn’t hear him first; maybe I sensed – What was he after, inside a house? Silently he had entered from the garden Perhaps a gust of wind swept him in. A little sparrow, fluttering his wings, He skitters, flies up and down, zigzag. He almost hit the ceiling, and he didn’t - He tried to escape but the windows were closed.

Balachandran V

Life, a lie

How much truth in words? How much fully said How much wanted to say How much conveyed How much understood How much you want to know? When truth itself is so limited – Its all a lie- LOVE, LIFE, LIE…

Bai

(16)

I connect the dots between the words you say to me And what you actually mean.

Bai

Thirteen

After many months, I can finally say I don't have feelings for you anymore.

avani redij

blank paper

Feeling are like Black paper No one knows what to do with it And want to do something that's complicated Then let it stay Black That seems more Fresh Than the the written paper Because written papers are expectations And expectations are not feeling So, it's better to be Blank paper

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