Tag Archives: verse

The Life and Times of a Box of Chocolates (Previously, Love & Chocolates)

Posted in Poetry English by
Un cuore nel cioccolato

The rise and fall of desire, told through a box of chocolates.

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There is nothing more enchanting,

than a full box of chocolates

There is nothing more satisfying,

and there is nothing more ecstatic

There is nothing more elating,

and there is nothing more fantastic

There is no bigger blessing,

than a full box of chocolates

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When the box is full,

it is a box filled with dreams

In every little bite,

the taste of chocolate and creams

When the box is full,

it is a box filled with love

In every colored wrapper,

flavor enfolded within a delicious glove

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When the box is full,

it makes you richer than the richest

Exploring all the candies,

becomes better than a quest

When the box is full,

it makes you very blessed

Savoring each flavor,

is an experience, better than the best

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Then your greed takes over,

and the box starts getting empty

Bit by bit, and piece by piece,

it goes away, and it was quite plenty

Each piece of candy,

is one step closer to bliss

Each opened wrapper,

reminds you of a lover’s kiss

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You lick your fingers,

you lick them again and again

You swirl your tongue,

the pleasure is wild and insane

You get addicted to the candies,

the creams and the flavors

You get obsessed with the pleasure,

the chocolates become soul savers

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To make the chocolates stay,

you keep the box closed

You even hide it away,

trying to remain composed

You harness all your patience,

you keep your urge in check

You smile at your complacency,

but your determination is a wreck

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Then the greed attacks again,

and your hands wander close

Your desire rekindles and takes over,

and caution, thither it goes

You take one, you take two,

and then you take the final bit

You blow caution to the wind,

the box is finally empty, and you also quit

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There is nothing more tragic

than an empty box of chocolates

There is nothing more frustrating,

and there is nothing more depressing

There is nothing more saddening,

and there is nothing more maddening

There is no bigger dilemma,

than an empty box of chocolates

When the Mirror Broke Again (Previously, Lament of the Loss)

Posted in Poetry English by

A poem about mending each other, only to discover the mirror breaks again.

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Neither you were broken, nor I, when I met you first,

only the mirror was broken into a thousand pieces

Neither you were crushed, nor I, when we met at our worst,

only the world was folded into a thousand creases

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We picked up the pieces with bleeding fingers,

our love just made the mirror whole once again

Arranging the shining puzzle on a matrix of red,

unfolding the creases, we removed every stain

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I chose to polish you, and you chose to polish me;

I showed you the beauty, playing sweet violins

I chose to strengthen you, and you chose to strengthen me;

you showed me how the real affection begins

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I showed you the colors, vibrant and fragrant;

I embraced your troubles and kissed away your tears

You showed me how to make the ultimate surrender;

supporting my struggles, you pushed away my fears

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We loved and we fought, and we made up again,

we found some warmth under the cold, dead frost

We agreed and we disagreed, and settled what we could,

we cried bitterly, when we thought all was lost

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Towards the end, we became a wholesome one,

cherishing our victory, thinking that’s what peace is

With our souls entwined, we thought we had won,

but the mirror broke again, into a thousand pieces

Symphony of Loss

Posted in Poetry English by

Perhaps it was never really love—only obsession wearing a beautiful mask.

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Let you and me sit in the dark glen of misery,

and turn the faded pages of our long-lost history

The words have evaporated into the space and time,

while our souls were dancing their egoistic mime

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Let you and me play the symphony of bitter loss,

and try to trace our names in the wet green moss

The moisture has dried, the fragrance is gone,

while our patience was waiting for another dawn

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Let you and me sit under the old and bent trees,

and collect the shattered pieces of sun on bent knees

The leaves have all dried and are crumbling into bits,

while we were fighting each other to the end of our wits

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Let you and me think of passion spent and gone stale,

and recollect broken dreams, faded and already pale

They have receded into oblivion, the vision has died,

while we were pursuing our desires on a high tide

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Let you and me cry and scream our hearts out,

and try to fill in the cracks left behind by drought

The cracks are widening with the passage of time,

while we thought forgiving was an unthinkable crime

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Let you and me hold each other under the stars,

and find solace in intimacy, which was never really ours

The kisses have gone bland, and the embraces so cold,

while we stood against each other, feeling so bold

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Let you and me erase each other and forget what we had,

and allow our longing to die instead of rotting and going bad

The stink is burning our eyes and bringing unwanted tears,

while we focused on our ambition and our very own fears

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Let you and me say farewell and forget we were in love,

and permit our hearts to heal like a wounded dove

Perhaps it was never love that we thought we had,

perhaps it was just a crazy obsession, making us both mad

The Gospel of the Eyes (previously, its all in the eyes)

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All eyes tell stories - this poem listens to them all.

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In the eyes, everything can be found,

and I see eyes everywhere and all around

Happy and sad, and also good and bad eyes

tired and watchful, and hungry and soulful eyes

Lustful and virtuous, and dreaming and tempestuous eyes,

eyes that evade, and eyes that stare into other eyes

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Eyes that are happy in their forgetfulness,

gold, women, and the laughter of children,

sedated by the fulfillment of petty dreams

And eyes that are sad in their knowingness,

death, old age, and the torture of loneliness,

confronted by reality when maturity screams

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Eyes that are awake in their mindfulness,

virtue, religion, and the seduction of charity,

attracted by heaven or the morality within

And eyes that are asleep in their sinfulness,

wealth, selfishness, and lust for the world,

numbing their hearts, each loss and each win

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Eyes that are tired in their exasperation,

poverty, destitution, and the pangs of hunger,

numb and dull, when madness brims over

And eyes that are watchful in their enragement,

injustice, genocide, and the horrors of war,

stopped by helplessness when frustration takes over

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Hungry eyes with their constantly begging needs,

power, money, and the sultriness of status,

entangled in webs of silver and gold

And soulful eyes in their mournful creeds,

ethics, morality, and the concept of social justice,

entwined in philosophies, contradictory and bold

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Lustful eyes with their passionately burning promises,

murmurs, whispers, and the fragility of assurances,

lighted, lived, and extinguished over a single night

And virtuous eyes with their polished hypotheses,

conscience, belief, and the solidness of integrity,

drafted and nullified just after a single fight

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Dreaming eyes with their dark, forbidden fantasies,

caprice, obscenity, and the call of devilishness,

darkened and colored by unfulfilled desires

Tempestuous eyes with their guilt-ridden ecstasies,

sex, alcohol, and the lure of dominance,

emboldened and driven by unheard cries

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In the eyes, everything can be found,

and I see eyes everywhere and all around

My eyes, your eyes, smiling and frowned,

eyes of the chaotic masses, countless and abound

Eyes that are bewildered, and eyes that astound,

eyes that are deceived, and eyes that confound

The Lament of Imagined Worlds (Previously, Harbingers of Doom)

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A journey through dreams where prophets whisper, and sirens lie, and where imagination walks among shamans, sinners, and dying fires.

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Sometimes, I imagine the most unimaginable,

playing with lightning within the clouds of doom

At other times, I dream the most indescribable,

part of another time, walking the hallways of gloom

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Sometimes, I visit the land of the sad throat singers,

their chords singing the melody - foretelling the end

Then there are men from the West - the tired gunslingers,

flames are dying slowly - the fires that they tend

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There are shamans from Tibet - humming ancient words,

and flutes playing softly, the lament of the damned

Lonely prophets in the streets - the ever-preying birds,

warning of the apocalypse, their words all crammed

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There are lonely gypsy women, with wings under their feet,

their crystal balls telling fabulous lies, all without shame

Sirens hungry for young blood with their smiles so sweet,

their seduction dancing the tango - a never-ending game

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I see the silent eyes of the mindless throng - ruled by sin,

smiles masking a thousand fetishes, all pleasure and lust

Tears of the guilty Midas, hiding the insatiable grin,

desires swirling in frenzy, their feet covered in rust

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I dream of the strange mer-people under the stormy seas,

the weight of the dark waters burdening their heart

Pale mermaids and their sad laments, begging on their knees,

weaving a million enticements, perfecting their art

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I dream of dense forests, under the humid skies,

the old, gnarled trees, standing a solemn guard

Roots gripping the black soil, upwards they rise,

the old gods sleep, their memories all marred

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Sometimes I imagine, and sometimes I only dream,

pastimes of a failed saviour and delusions of grandeur

Life is the darkest of all curses, and so it may seem,

users have failed the system, and He is only a voyeur