Old lesions fester and seep in the cavern of tonight,
Dark thoughts gather and weep in the cavern of tonight.
A high wind is swaying the maimed tree of deodar,
The parched lips of tippler look for tavern of tonight.
Upturned chairs wait not for visitors in the café,
The feast is laid in boudoir for the intern of tonight.
She was a baby-faced killer who poisoned my chalice,
Her sherry lips are printed on the lantern of tonight.
Uma you who wriggle like a trampled caterpillar,
Your bosom is an icicle in the winter of tonight.
Damn, that’s good
Coming from you, that has to be good enough. Thank you.
Thank God there are moments when the winds abate, and all is still again.
The ominous utterings of an ill wind Uma?
Sure, there may be shadows that lurk, turning tides & a dash of nostalgic wanderings to battle… but no winter is forever.
How true, all of what you have said! It is with much despondence that one writes a ghazal.
So very powerful, with biting imagery
Thanks for the nod, Derrick.
“…wriggle like a trampled caterpillar…” what a painful image.
Emotion provoking words, Uma.
Many thanks, Vicki.
A devastating ghazal, Uma. I shrink into awe… it show there’s a great beauty in desolation. You rival Hopkins in his later sonnets – “I wake and feel the fell of dark not day…”
I am grateful for the continued encouragement, Bruce. You have invoked Hopkins’ name and I am thrilled to bask in the glory of his words. But he is the sea where I want to be a seashell.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a seashell. It takes only one grain of sand in the storm to challenge the eye of the world!
That was the original idea of it all. Many thanks, Bruce.
Our sweetest songs are those that tell us of our sadest thoughts. True art and creativity have that power of transcendence. While baby faced killers prowl around, let your pen continue producing beauty.
What a quote, what thoughts! Many thanks for those beautiful words, my friend.
Oh my goodness, this made me shudder, Uma. Coming to it as I have, in the middle of an ordinary day, it’s not a pause in the flow – it’s a hard and harsh full stop.
There is menacing power here, yet where and why I can’t discern. And that’s right; it’s as it should be.
Thank you for this compelling intermission.
Sandra, only a true ghazal can have that effect on the reader, which means I have passed a huge test today. Thank you for being the northern star.
A wonderful demonstration, Uma, of the power of poetry to make beauty out of the bleakest moments. Bravo! You are a ghazal master…
Sometimes, a ghazal is all the heart can write. Many thanks for the encouragement, Molly.
Wow! Uma Shankar, a ghazal after long. Very powerful, each word invokes an image and what touched me most was the picture of the maimed Deodar. Write on, write on…..
Thanks for those kind words.
Wow! Love this.
The powerful imagery conjures up the feeling of something dark and sinister lurking here. Nicely done.
Menacing and uncomfortable; an eerie feeling of being invaded, violated. And yet such richness, beauty in these images. The power of lyricism, dancing snake-like – gyrating charmingly – creating sparks in the darkness.
I love your metaphors. Brilliant!
Many thanks, Susie.
That was a powerful Ghazal, Umashankar invoking imagery and emotion. You are indeed a master of this form.
Thank you, my friend, for adding fizz to my dispirited chalice.
I haven’t read a written word for a while, but I know where to find what I want to hear 🙂 Your Ghazals have a double effect on me: they are in tune with the sadness I feel, but their perfection melts the icicles and heals the wounds.
I wish you well under whichever skies you are. Thanks for those kind words –they inspire me to write again.
This is filled with astonishing imagery and emotion, Uma.
Perhaps there is no connection but your lines “A high wind is swaying the maimed tree of deodar,
The parched lips of tippler look for tavern of tonight” reminded me of the Eagles’ “The full moon is calling, the fever is high
And the wicked wind whispers and moans”.