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Best Poems From
RANI TURTON
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33.
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Deserts That Dance In My Mind
Endless walks, nothing at all in sight;
Nothing and nobody in sight. My mind, still and
Oblivious to the external world, scorched and
Silent, walked, walked, walked on.
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People with pasts have memories to keep them warm
And others, have nothing more to say.
The mind, like a furnace, clings to the air
To burn, to burn, to burn bright.
There are deserts that dance in my mind
Strange, irreal and almost divine.
They beckon, they chase me from reason
As I circle in the vast nowhere, somewhere, everywhere.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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34.
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I Thought Love Was An Emotion
Not an ordeal, no, not a slow walk in the sunlight
After a long melancholy night;
Not a trial by fire after getting wet in the rain
Stepping over puddles and watching pain
Plop in to the swirling water
And waiting, watching long after.
I thought love was an emotion, strong affection;
One that overrid all objection and dejection;
Not a melancholy metaphysical madness
Not a surreal, sentimental sadness.
I thought love was an emotion, an emotion
That it was just another poetic notion
When feelings your body do betray
Emotion tries to flee clear away.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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35.
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Jaipur, Bleeding
History and blood mingle together
For some people life and time stood still;
Terror strikes again
From whom, those who were hate-inspired;
To whom, the innocent as usual.
Who will heal the wounded? Who will ask
Why some people want to maim and then bask
In a kind of kinky glory
But all that is yet another story:
Families bear their loss with dignity
Jaipur will stand up and continue to live
Though it is hard to forget and forgive.
This poem is dedicated to Abha.
Rani Turton
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36.
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Sins, Like Shadows: The Cycle Of Life
Shadows, like sins, cast low on the ground.
The cycle of life carries on. Some of the good lingers on
In unsuspected ways. The family is a tribe
With it's own codes. Some of the shadows linger on.
The wisdom to sow, reap and differeniate between the real
The surreal, the ego, the egoistical is not given to all.
Everyone carries their own burden.
Some do their best to realise
Their lives by fighting for their dreams;
And some, try to understand and analyse.
Day after day, the hours tick on and it seems
Shadows lengthen with the noon
Mystic, melancholy, heavy with tears
Shadows that follow and merge
The body, substantial and the shadow, ethereal
And even more so by the light of the moon.
If life is a shadow that passes like a dream
Are we what we are and do we seem to be what we seem?
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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