I flit through the cities as an embodied ghost,
Here in the shadows of spires kissing stars,
Or along mews still fragrant with fame,
An invisible shadow that sways along waves
And sings with the leaves of Notting Hill or Hyde
That chime with the footfalls of time's studded stars,
Here along banks of Thames and its nymphs
Who dapple my feet with uncertain beats
As I gaze into its depths, unsure and cross
Calculating fractions of ecstasy and loss.
Blown by the gusts that rush through my pores
I stand almost dazed on Westminster pier
And walk towards bridges with Arias in feet
Buoyed, yet conscious of memories of skin
That grope for their roots beyond towers or waves
And sunder my soul to a thousand new bits
Which gather on the wharfs of our time.
Puzzled though I am, I shore them in grace
And search for the patterns of faith which'll smell
Like cardamom and cloves along Bayswater Road
And frame me new constructs of culture and self
That spill beyond squares of immigration forms
And scatter into pixels of sense.
22 comments:
Surely an embodied ghost is a people?
search for the patterns of faith which'll smell
Like cardamom and cloves along Bayswater Road
And frame me new constructs of culture and self
fav lines....that last stanza really is the heart of this for me....beyond the immigration forms (feeling like you dont belong, is the feel i get from that)....nicely done...
In this poem I feel the depth and breadth of the history of London...its 'ecstasy and loss.' Amazing what all London has experienced in its history, 'on the wharfs of our time.' The last stanza seems to look to the future, experience London as changing 'beyond squares of immigration forms.' A thoughtful poem, Abin.
quite engrossing, well written mi amigo
I too love the last stanza--Your work is always so introspective--and this in particular seems that way to me
Love the "spires kissing stars".....and the glimpse of London you give us here, in all of its glory. Loved it, Abin.
Specially like the last stanza, spelling of change and embracing the city ~ Lovely city poem ~ Hope you are well Abin ~
Being from the UK it was like a reminder of home. Love the last stanza too.
So many sights, smells, sounds implied, and emotions in this poem. Very nice.
Calculating fractions of ecstasy and loss....haunting line...hope homeland doesn't become the mailbox.......and hope i read it correctly..smiles
You have captured that sense of displacement one feels in a foreign city so well.. I loved the mention of cardamom and cloves in Bayswater.
Another sumptuous feast!
Like cardamom and cloves along Bayswater Road
And frame me new constructs of culture
Reminds me of the myriads of curry house and foreign cuisines around the area. Great write Abin!
Hank
you've truly capitalized on a distant and nostalgic heartbeat that is only read & felt by exceptional writers that grab the heart's pump! Sincerely Deborah
enjoyed how you used rhythm and pace to support imagery and emotion
enjoyed how you used rhythm and pace to support imagery and emotion
Whether an actual stranger in a city or feeling like one can leave such an empty feeling...This speaks to me of the times I have had to move from one city to another and the feeling of loss and being loss that first engulfed me until I embraced the changes I couldn't avoid...fantastic write!
I've never been to London, but this way a very nice walk :)
This feels so much like London, like a person from another land, or perhaps a soul who is past all of it.
The "cardamom and cloves" speaks to me of India, and the new constructs sounds like an immigrant from there. I just watched "The Namesake" (literally finished it ten minutes ago) and pondered the soul caught between two worlds. This is evocative and haunting. Amy
"embodied ghost"
Is this about reincarnation.
It seems to convey diverse times and cultures in one place (London) as being experienced by one traveler.
Amazing once again.
It was like...feelers going out from the narrator's aura...drawing from the surrounding structures and their pasts.
Many others commented on the ending, which is triumphant.
Greatly described, fantastic read.
a poem for all our senses..rest everything has already been praised.
Post a Comment