Grafitti Truck, Paris

A truck that has been redone by street art.

Whispers Into The Brick Wall: Poem

WHISPERS INTO THE BRICK WALL

Who else will listen silently while I speak of my love for you
Who else will stand still while I whisper my secrets
Those deep, hidden secrets buried in my heart
Except this rough, brick wall
Standing so tough and so tall
While I whisper all I have to say;
Nobody would remain as stoic and immobile.
No, nobody could or would. I ,myself
Knowing myself so well, can hardly believe all
That I pour out into this ready wall’s ear
I , myself, can hardly listen to my own words
Speaking out my barely avowed hesitations
And uncommitted love's crimes; I , myself softly touch
This rugged wall and it’s surface
As though it is the skin of my loved one’s face.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Woman With Glass: Children's Art

Woman with high heels, glass of wine and diamond in her nose. A lot of masacra and lipstick too. Wow!

Drawing Courtesy: Indrani

Talking To Nobody: Poem

TALKING TO NOBODY

When the sun dips and bows goodbye
I, at the window, watching the cityscape,
Admiring the dusk
Talking to nobody.

A cosmic dance, unpatented
Patiently the sun prepares its solitary revolution
Or so it seems: the sun, the window and I
Talking to nobody.

Footsteps down below
The fundamental alliance between
Between the sun, the lonely one and I
Is that we excel,  at this exquisite  art of talking to

Nobody.

Copyright: Rani Turton

HOURS

HOURS

In spite of or rather because of
A boundless imagination bequeathed by my forebears

Leaping and skimming over life's incidents and accidents
Waiting and patience are not only virtues

In spite of or rather because of a certain sentience
That begins but doesn't complete the sentence

Phrases are like life; sometimes broken
At times unfinished and often unspoken

And these hours dribbling and dragging on, forever on
From the very beginning, the moment one is born.

When the end comes, alone in a foreign land
The hours will stop and nobody needs to understand.

Copyrght: Rani Turton

Street Art, Paris

On a rather torn wall, Charlie Chaplin.

The Lyrics To This Song: Poem

The Lyrics To This Song

In sunlight, strong or weak; watching a floating leaf;
In rain that wet my head and washed out my eyes
In snow gliding like a ghost
Whenever the wind on the hill blew
And I thought of whatever I knew.

The lyrics to this song
Came to the memory of your glance
I, the poet, the exiled and you
Not knowing where to place me
In your ordered world:

I have nothing in my hands, not even a flower;
Just the love in my heart and all it's power.

Come, walk with me slowly up this slope
Life is so short and I do so much need
Your warm clasping hand
And a little bit of hope.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Bird On Shell

Bird elegantly perched on a seashell.

Glass Bangles at a Stand

The tinkling sound of glass bangles is lovely. Women who wear them, the simplest of them look so feminine.

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