So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem

So Acute Was My Loneliness

.
Cobbled stones, not dust.
So acute was my loneliness that dream I must.
Escapism was a flight from dreary realism.
..
If roam I must, if chains I must break
Alone, in this pebble-strewn destiny
My happiness I must fake.
.
So acute was my loneliness that home was far
Too far; too far and distant my loved ones and my thoughts
That in that black cosmic wilderness even the North Star
Seemed close enough to touch. That even my words
Seemed transparent and tinted with Orientalism

.
So distant and cold, so empty my worlds.
So acute was my loneliness even the poems would not come
The words fled, the streets wet, a spectre I had become
My memories tinged with the bitter things I had done
.
All alone. When dawns touched my lids after fitful sleep
I had resolved never, never to weep
However deep the pain. However acute the pain
The sun would shine tomorrow and I would become myself again.
.
Copyright: Rani Turton

Rooftop Street Art, Paris

.
.
.
.

Street art high up on the rooftops of Paris.

Pussycat Behind A Fern

.

.
Beautiful cat peeping out from behind a fern!

Questioning Cat

Pussycat was scrutinizing carefully my camera!

Truck Sign

A highly stylised 'Stop' at the rear wheel of an Indian truck.

Waiting for Tomorrow: Poem

.
.

.
Waiting For Tomorrow

Waiting for tomorrow, wherever tomorrow will be
Looking for light's glimmer and no misery
Asking for nothing; prayers and answers will come
To my doorstep when I need to become
What I need to become.

Ego and my destiny do not permit me
To become a being: to become while being
I am my body's home, I am alone
A shrine, a rhyme, a time.

I will wait for tomorrow, in silent patience
Which has nothing of penitance; it comes
From being a being of irrelevance: pages
Will not be written on my life. If and now
I am worthy, I am bound to my society and family.

My children will thus speak of me, maybe.

Copyright: Rani Turton

When in Deep Despair: Poem

When, In Deep Despair

When in deep despair, melancholy takes my hand

Carresses my cheek gently and for the life of me

The words don't come and I cannot speak

The words like still pools reflect dark moonless nights

Emotions that have plundered and run away

To mountain hideouts

Sensitivity and argument

Music and metronomy

Strings and wood

Voices and fingers

Leave me thus shaken by their power

Of enchantment; all that I saw and read

Felt and dreamt here and there and everywhere

When in deep despair I think of my mother's love

And my old father who always asks for me

In spite of my age; the trust and devotion

I gave to some, often unreturned

But that doesn't matter. Cycles of life and love

Go away and come back again

When in deep despair I wonder and reflect

Melancholy is a friend, not a fiend but for whom

There is none, noone to touch my hand today.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Flower and Broken Leaf on the Road

I found this lying on the road, exactly as pictured above.

Sentimental Roof, Dieppe

Tiles that have been placed in a heart motif, to great effect.

Doors: Poem

.

Doors

.

How do I walk though that closed door

I don't feel welcome anymore

The door that used to be the entry

To another world now remains

Shut against my entreaty:

.

Silent, without pity.

.

One day I'll come back again

Walk through that door again

I'l be strong enough to knock

And that door will open

I'll enter, I'll walk right in.

.

A new life will begin.

.

Copyright: Rani Turton