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

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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