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THEME: ELEGIAC REFLECTIONS


I DIED THE DAY I WAS BORN


I am a little girl! Yes I am a little girl! Do you think I am the daughter of a pale- pearl? Born to Providence, born to shine In golden embroidery, trinkets fine !

With a 'sonorous' voice, and a lovely face Like a Grecian statue with pristine grace! Oh, O! You are so mistaken, missing the seed From which are born men , proud indeed!


They clouded my sky, when I was born It was all dark and dour, a blanketed sun. I couldn't see my face, seethed in a cover, A perfect mannequin, tucked in a corner.

Emotions eluded me like a jinn, But I read women were great and clean, A compass of beauty and honour Where goddesses took shelter and succour.


One day they dragged me from my play When I was trotting hopscotch on clay, Trying to retrieve the dead marker Pushing it with my toe, in childish swagger.

They said they would give me a living lagger, And I can play with him and he would be my lover.

I didn't blush, nor knew what it meant, I laughed and laughed untill tears down went

And my eyes became 'elegiac', numb and cold, Stiffening my little limbs in an unwieldy fold. My hopes shattered in that 'epiphanic' moment ; A dumb doll with a key , guiding my every movement.


One night, I dreamed of a small baby ,on my little lap, crying, And low murmurs of : "Oh, she is dying , she is dying!"


© KALUCHARAN SAHU

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MY ELEGIAC FIRST POEM


What became of my first poem? The one written in a distant home. A place of my long past youth. Was it a poem about an elegiac truth?


How young was I to take my pen, And write my first poem way back then? So long and far away is this scream; As a young child my thoughts to dream.


Was my first poem of happy deeds? Or, the suppressing of wants and needs? So distant is this veiled dream’s haunt. To my active mind now it does flaunt.


Still, in my years of poetic prowl, I’ve written many poems that sing or howl. It matters not what the first impulse brought. As to my many poems visions are taught.


So sonorous are the sounds that jell, As the ringing of a rhythmic bell. Carrying both mournful and happy tones, To the readers in far off homes.


A proud epiphany in the realization, That words crafted can cause a sensation. Thankful am I that the child in me, Is still reflected in my poetry.

© FIBBY BOB KINNEY

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ELEGY FOR MY LOST LOVE


Today, I reminisce everything of you my love That transcribed when you drop your last breath. Three months of unforgettable grieving moments We shared the pangs of life of pitfalls unfortunately.


My thoughts keep haunting as I hear you sigh faintly, Whispering sweet sighs despite ordeals of life, Just to make me feel at ease with your flaming charms, Trying to create a pansy rhythm of your erudite glance.


Memories of good times as we then watch the sun, And knowing life is now dawning at the westside, Subtle memories of majestic serenity life was Your gleaming face , I felt that warmth hearted divine.


It seems for us flows epiphany of unique enthusiasm, The complexity of your love and desires scattered in mind. For me, it seems sonorous as you try to enlighten my heart. In reality, a daybreak may intricate my heart at any moment of time.


That night, as you look at me, a mysterious glance Smothered silence as you caressed my hair and desperate face. It seems eternity flourished with intense ecstacy Caressed my wounded soul with immense sacrifice in mellifluous quest.


My heart and soul, interweaving with flows of love and pity. Trust in your arms, my love , my dreams and desires in legacy Are about to collapse as tomorrow you might be out of my sight. I feel helpless then without you by my side.


Those sonorous times of our life, discerning wistfully, Shall flourish in my heart as time goes by faithfully. You've been a luminary; hence, memory of a precious diamond to me Pondering an eternal elegiac for the rest of my life.


Today, a year had passed without you by my side. Couldn't help myself but feel great nostalgic of the past, Passionate feelings of sympathy and tears, Now penetrating in the core of my heart -- Grieving.


ZENAIDA LARAGAN TALOZA

© All Rights Reserved

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