Misty Eyes

veiled-1
Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto

Misty maven’s visit
Veils the mounts
Each day before sun saunters in
To lend its colors to all –

A fusion that fosters
Hope and harmony.
Can you sense the vibes?
Can you see the equity?

Open those misty eyes
Veiled with societal norms,
With self-written archaic laws
Look around and quit myopia

Living in the haze of past
Glowering at the inevitable change
Nursing prejudices that slash spirits
Wouldn’t change the color of blood.
© Balroop Singh

Thanks to Sue Vincent for an inspiring Thursday #writephoto prompt Veiled

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Three Black Men

Three black men asked:
“Why are you on this earth?”

“To love, laugh and smile
To chase our dreams
To discover the wonders
To create new paths.”

“I can create doubts,” smirked Shorty.

“We explore the truth,
Feel the caress of breeze
Roll with the waves,
Breathe in the beauty”

“But I can throttle you,” said Scary.

“We feel you but break free
To savor spring air.
You melt at our feet
When we accept your tyranny.”

“What about me?” the devilish one spoke.

“Your gloom may be overpowering
Your sorrows flow into crevices
We accept you as part of life
To discern the magic of light.”

Three black men –
Doubt, Fear and Darkness
Dare not ask another question
As they cloaked their heads in ignominy.
© Balroop Singh

This poem is inspired from Pamela S. Wight’s spooky story: Men in Black.

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Literary Beetles

crown
Sue Vincent’s #writephoto

Gold couldn’t lure us
We are literary beetles
We walk at will, making our own trail.

Destinations don’t hold us
We scatter words that shimmer
The sky is our canvas.

Our burrows are cavernous
We bury dreams in them
They reverberate ruefully.

We wait for wings
To excavate our aspirations
Of touching the horizon.

The path may be treacherous
Our feet may be feeble
Yet we walk undeterred
Impelled by each other’s whisper.
© Balroop Singh

Thanks to Sue Vincent for an inspiring Thursday #photoprompt Crown

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Living Again

torrent
Sue Vincent’s #writephoto

I rise from the valley of death
The valley you pushed me into
The valley I reject…
Its deluge couldn’t drown me.

I don’t want to mourn for
The blessings that I have lost
I refuse to crumble under them
Within me, I can hear a loud protest.

Your memories don’t make me smile
They offer no solace now
They rest on a rocky ledge
Floundering in watery grave.

Divesting that soaking attire
I am seeking new vistas
My eye lashes are glowing
Approbations no longer allure me.

I seek the company of those
Who can guide me, escort me
Toward the path of enlightenment,
Forgiveness and peace.
© Balroop Singh

Thanks to Sue Vincent for an inspiring Thursday #photoprompt Torrent

You can click here for more poetry.

Check my latest book release: Moments We Love

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Why I Like Realism

I call myself a realist though most of my poetry rides on the wings of imagination. I know realism is boring and harsh; modern writers have almost abandoned it but it is ironic that this hypocritical world cannot do away with realities of life that stand before us every single day. However hard we may try to escape them, we can’t eliminate them. Who would like to read about them?

Before you conclude that literary realism is dead, I would like to introduce you to an outstanding book that I stumbled upon recently. When characters accept their imperfections, when they struggle to survive and show the willingness to turn back yet feel entrenched in the situation and no Godfathers come to save them – such stark realism would lack excitement. Strangely I didn’t find this to be true. I am amazed at the relevance of this story, so close to real life.

40179809._SY475_‘It’s A Long Way Down’ by Ian Canon is a realistic and honest saga of David, who had a loving wife, a successful career and the much-awaited award of excellence yet he let himself wander into the darkest alleys of addiction. He couldn’t answer his own question – why? Was it for pleasure, arrogance or escapism? “Success can be suffocating, happiness is hard,” he tries to justify his actions. As David slithered deeper into the abyss of self-imposed addiction, his body tried to react, sending signals of resistance, self-awakening hits him and his efforts to restrain himself are superbly narrated. Despite the theme, this book is brilliantly written, with each detail that keeps you spellbound, making you wonder – what next? What would be the end, detesting the obvious outcome that could be anybody’s guess!

Canon’s style of writing is perceptive, breathing the right emotion into the situation, he shares the depths of despair, the crevasse of self-doubt; human flaws stare at your face, mixed emotions of anger and angst gnaw at your bones, making you the mute spectator of desperation. With no help in sight, this lone journey of an addict is an eye-opener for all those weak-minded individuals who seek pleasure in momentary joy or misuse drugs. David may not evoke sympathy but exemplifies a scaffold of perfect doom.

Ian gets into the mind of his characters, each one perfectly drawn and understands relationships quite well. His delectable prose mitigates the curse words that may seem necessary for the junkies. The book ends on an exquisite note, leaving much to the imagination of the reader, hinting at the power of hope. I am amazed how such a dreary topic could be converted into an excellent book.
© Balroop Singh

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