Oh, Melancholy: Poem

Oh, Melancholy
Oh, Melancholy

You almost tempted me

On wet city streets, in grey city nights
To trust uncaring strangers
Yes, those city knights.

Oh, Melancholy, you are my love
I have walked, talked and sung to you; 
Years and years have gone by.
Melancholy: I was savage and shy.

One day I waited near the river
I saw you pass by on the bridge.
You were all I had ever dreamed of
Me, walking on the river's edge.

I almost lost, ever in love, but
Never, never really wise; 
Lost in romantic dreams, 
I wished to believe in your passionate lies.

When I saw you walking by
On the bridge, your face in shadow
I knew then, you would always
Follow me, go where I go.

Touch me with soft, gentle hands
And often take my pain
Letting me believe that
You could dissolve it in the city rain.

That you would speak to me
And I would for once understand: 
My emotions would surge
As we walked on hand in hand.

Years later now, I still have you
In every shadow, mirror, poetic line
Oh, Melancholy, you know
You will always be mine, only mine.

Copyright: Rani Turton 

All I Need Just Now: Poem

All I Need Just Now

All I need just now

Is for the earth to curve into the sky:
To listen to rustling leaves
Watch clouds sailing by.

Then when my fatigued brain sleeps
And worries cease to be
I will dream of peace
Lying here under this green tree.

Copyright: Rani Turton

My Heart's Empty Spaces: Poem

My Heart's Empty Spaces

I have looked for you in many strange places:
Highways, subways, and in my heart's empty spaces.
By brightlight, flickering light, by rain and sun.
I waited. That is when this quest had begun.

I wrote in imperfect rhymes, by day and night.
That is how the heart reasons, and why I write.
That is how the ache is dissipated, as days go on
As times whistles by and hope is born.

I have waited at street corners, even in biting cold
Many strange cities have I roamed, wild and bold;
To follow my destiny was a toss of dice.
Beloved, if only you could love me twice.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Photograph: Lord Ganesha

A close up of Ganesha, magnificent in shades of gold.

Adored: Poem

Adored

All steps lead to your door; all paths lead to you somehow.
When I saw you the very first time, it was evident to me
Life’s doors opened and closed for you. That my life
That the years, all these days and nights lay in your eyes.
Adored you are, adored you will remain, come what may.
Life can be fickle. My heart, however, is sworn to secrecy
Though sometimes weary; but walking, walking
On this road of destined love. Adored you are.
You will always be.
Precious as the air I breathe,
As vital as life is to me.

Copyright (text and image): Rani Turton

Nothing To Do With My Life: Poem

Nothing To Do With My Life.

I heard the clouds whisper from .land to land
It seemed that rumours were running rife.
Nothing to do with my life.
Nothing to do with my solitary life,
Nothing to do with my perturbed mind.

There was a rift in celestial realms.
Nothing seemed to be the same anymore.
What happened, what was to happen
World spinning fast on jerky axis
Tsunami, forest fire, war in many lands

I heard the clouds whispering
My mind tried to remain calm.
Lightning in a bleak black sky; tempest
Over choppy water; drops of water
Falling,falling, onto placid lakes
Thinking, regretting many mistakes.

Clouds that move from land to land.
Maybe only they can really understand.


Copyright (text and image): Rani Turton

Bandplayer at Indian Marriage, Delhi

The band players are dressed for the occasion, and fit in beautifully with the bright, shimmering colours of the festivities!

The Painted Trucks of India

Indian roads have marvellous handpainted trucks that brighten up mundane living. The artists use colours imaginatively, and the motifs can be mythological, Bollywoodian, Nature or just about anything. Wonderful!

Street Art: Victor Hugo, Paris

A fabulous interpretation of Victor Hugo. The artist has, it seems, rubbed the dust off the walls with considerable dexterity. This work of art is to be found at the Place des Vosges, Paris. The museum of Victor Hugo is to be found at 6 Place des Vosges 75004 Paris.

My Solitary Self: Poem

My Solitary Self

I asked my solitary self, shy, splendid and sad
What to do wth the rest of my life;
My solitary self, debating with being and existing
And unravelling sundry strife.

My solitary self, aloof at times
Decided to ask my soul when and where
My brain and body could join in
And finally all griefs to share.

Wisdom, wherever it lies,
Perplexed by this intellectual discussion
Asked my solitary self to flee
All complicated abnegation.

So, alone with my solitary self,
Again I let my mind wander winsome and wild;
Slowly walking on mile after mile:
And then I saw my solitary self smile.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Stone Face in Niche in a Wall, Nevers

.
Interesting angle to this face, cunningly hidden in a niche in a wall.

Sacred Was This Longing: Poem

Sacred Was This Longing

Sacred was this longing; like a flame
Whitehot and purified: flaring towards freedom
Nebulous but euphoric in a mad quest for liberty;
To rebel, to fight and even maybe lose
With that sacred faultline of losers the world over:
Cracks in the surface, waiting, waiting for a kinder destiny.
Sacred was this desire: wrapped in life's energy.

It was what enabled the city lights and country earth
To course in my life's blood. When I raised my head
To look at the stars they were attainable;
When I looked at the horizon it seemed so near
I had touched rockbottom but now I could fly alone
Touched, brushed, cleansed by

This sacred longing

Copyright: Rani Turton

Doorhandle, Paris

Artists who imagine and create everyday objects like this one are geniuses indeed.

Strum, Strum Gently And My Heartstrings Sing: Poem

Strum, Strum Gently And My Heartstrings Sing

Strum, strum gently and my heartstrings sing
A song that comes from deep within
Words that coin their own phrases
And that is how I begin

A terrible ballad of love
I can speak of emotional hiatus
Begin at the beginning and then
Let this song sing about us

Strum gently and let the world fade away
The time I have with you will soon end;
There is a meaning to this interlude,
I have a liftime this heart to mend.

Strum, strum gently, do not pause when
The words do not come;
Thus my heart will continue to beat
And I to this love will succumb.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Father's Day Is Almost Done: Poem

Father's Day Is Almost Done

Father's day is almost done;
His hair shines silver in the light:
His hands, frail, hold a book,
His smiles to see a bird in flight.

He walks slowly as though
To still time in it's flight;
The sun will set, will set
And it will soon become night.

Father knows life is fragile.
With every passing season;
He unravels thread by thread
His life's passion and it's reason.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Seashell bat, Sables d'Olonne

Very fascinating art! A bat made entirely out of shells on the walls of a house.

Rose, Your Glory Turned To The Sky

Rose, Your Glory Turned To The Sky

Rose, your glory turned to the sky
The sun on your face; the wind's caress
As you whisper as only roses can
The rain, the rain falls softly on your skin.

Rose, your glory turned to the sky,
Perfection, almost pity as the tempest comes
And scatters your petals far and wide

Your perfume comes, goes,
Remains on my hand.
Rose, your beauty is known by
Poets, lovers, artists
From every land.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Mind, Losing Control: Poem

Mind, Losing Control

Mind, losing control, asking why.
Mind, wandering from hemisphere to hemisphere
And trying to find a place
A kind of santuary.

Disturbed and often weary.
Eroded by life's wear and worry.
Mind, losing control, fatigued
Strumming the strings and softly singing

Of life's lonesome starlit trek;
Of scorching sunlit trails:
Of eclipes on moonlit nights
Of bards, emperors, and knights

Of the toil and tears and all those years
Trying to be and become; of wanting,
Waiting,  and wishing when
The body was still young

Mind, losing control, asking
Why the fire dims and embers at times
Want to blaze bright and consume
The ideas, the desires and the poetic rhymes?

Copyright: Rani Turton

Painted Picture On A Truck, India

Indian lorries or trucks have lovely hand painted signs and pictures on them. A real feast for the eyes.

The Sometimes Song: Poem

The Sometimes Song

Wait a while. The mind's confusion and slow steps
May quicken: when the sun comes out from hiding
And weariness itself wearily walks itself away.

Then, sometimes, in the silence of the stars
I can hear your voice. I can hear and taste and see
The years that brought me to this misery.
Sometimes, when familiar streets come my way
Or I come to them, anyway
What I really am trying to say

Sometimes, the softness of those instants
Comes back to me: the intent, the ideas
The emotions and the inspiration
That still remain with me. If you had been,
Sometimes, near me

Things would have been different.
These unfamiliar conceptions of destiny
That life brought to my door would have dissolved
Like the morning mist: sunshine-kissed.

I, in this sometimes moody musing, ask you to listen to this

Solitary sometimes song.

Copyright: Rani Turton