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Best Poems From
RANI TURTON
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17.
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The River That Murmurs
I will ask the river, that flows serene
I will speak to the sky
I will ask the river that murmurs
Not to ask me why
I cannot speak for myself.
That time has long since passed me by.
The river can murmur and sing
Unspent by passion: my voice
Will break like a terribly taut string.
My words will be grammatically and academically
Twisted (like that leafless tree) , unfortunately!
I want the river to speak, to speak
Alone, alone with thee.
The river can, softly and without tears
Tell you my dreams and my fears
I know you will listen:
And while city lights in the water glisten
You wont see the tears that shine on my face
No, that is a serious, sentimental place
That only I know;
Flow, river, flow.
Flow, river flow.
Speak to the only love I know.
Daybreak approaches soon
You and he by the light of the moon
Will murmur whilst I -
Will wait for you to bring me his reply.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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18.
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* This Week, Empty Benches Beckon
This week, empty benches beckon
Speak to me of betrayal
Some trust that turned astray
Some feelings that walked away.
And thus comes the day
Of facing problems and solutions:
Of waiting it out and wanting
It all; of wanting it all.
I am the remnant of my dreams and aspirations.
I asked, received and fought.
There are weeks when empty benches beckon,
Beckon to trust gone astray.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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19.
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A Bowl, A Coin, A Mat
He sat there near the white pillar, waiting
For a coin to dropp into the tin bowl
Dented, indented with hazy souvenirs
He waited on his thick cotton mat for a coin
A glance, a word, whatever came easier.
He wouldn't stoop to asking; he had tried even that
It did not give more. Now that the city was overrun
With networks of beggars that stimulated
Sickness and poverty as a means of earning;
Beggars like him, the real ones
Often didn't even have the protection of the community.
Waves of people pass. the sounds of footsteps,
For many the old man was transparent, invisible
At times a man who should not be there.
A young man came and said, 'Here you are,
Grandfather, ' and a heavy thulk as the coins dropped
Into the waiting bowl. He nodded, and waited
The whole day had to wane. He would sit there
Listening to snatches of conversation, a life
Of which he had no part. As the sun set he would walk
Painfully to his shack, fold his mat
And put his tin bowl and coins away.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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20.
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A Bridge, Some Dreams
When that sadness comes upon me
That mystic, mad melancholy;
When realization hits me
I am here, now, my body and bits of my soul
Some of it, but not the whole.
There are fragments of me left in this city
Bits of my heart, parts of my destiny
Brought me here; sometimes when beset by self-pity
Motes in my eyes, holes in my heart
Torn, torn, and almost forlorn.
Walking on a Parisian bridge
Stepping to another tune; wait a while:
A song is yet to be sung, let me wait for another rhyme.
There are clouds and there are dreams
Dreams, yes, as misty as those clouds; I, myself at times
Seeing myself walk on, walk on, plod.
There are bridges and some dreams
Still, there are paths to be trod.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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