Where did your eyes go that Sunday morning?
What pleasure did you loose in that treacherous maze?
Where did your soul go and who inhabits your body?
Where is my love, where’s my love?
Where did you go that night we got separated?
Who sent you away, why weren’t we together?
Why do I feel so empty in this helpless mode?
Where is my soul? Where is my soul?
Big round eyes were looking
With their yellow flowers and their honey skin
Watermelons on their heads forcing ironic jokes
Where is my home? Where is my home?
They made tea for this cool night
and asked me to remember what it was like
to be my own.
They left me blank in this dead silence
Semi-dark surreal, quiet surroundings
The intoxicating smell of background Marley
No, woman, no cry.
They asked me to remember
happiness inside
silence inside
peace inside
My spirit struggling to keep its own
My heart nagging with every breath
You must remind me of what the mind forgot
Where is my own? Where is my own?
And you left the way you came: unassuming, calm
The face I thought I knew, wearing fresh smiles
That a rose is a rose, but why so early?
Bring me my love. Bring me my love.
By tuttysan © 2007
Beautiful. I’m becoming quite a fan of your poetry. I love the alliteration and rhythm to this one, the images too. It really captures the soul of the beauty that rests in pain.
Cheers.
Thanks harmonie.
I have a few critical remarks to make about this. I hope you do not take offense.
The first two stanza are weak. In their language as well as in their lack of imagery. I think it is very important that the beginning of a poem does not fall flat.
The images start pouring in from the third stanza. And this is where I start liking the poem.
This is powerful.
Again, a powerful line. It retains the rhythm of the poem but also introduces very meaningful pauses.
The next stanza, in my opinion, again appears to be rather insipid. Sometimes, repetition of a word is a wonderful tool to work with, but it fails to work here.
I absolutely adore the last two stanza, but for one small complain: the second line of the last stanza breaks the rhythm in an annoying manner.
There are portions of this poem that I love, And there are portions that I don’t. But, as long as the work is true to your heart, it will flow on its own.
I felt the flow. This is lovely.
kim
Thanks Kim.
Ritiwik, thank you for taking time to critique my pieces. I agree with your comments about some stances. I do like to start easy and build momentum as I write. I’ll be devoting some time to reading some of your poetry and others’ here, to note the different styles.