Poems of Welkin Siskin: Series 10
Welkin Siskin lives in Seattle, Washington. He is the poet of varied nature, who writes on various themes. Poetry for him is the healing ointment of a heart destitute of vision.
He believes that poetry is the play of words, the change of verbs into nouns; the game of words surging through the heart's inside.
His poetry is the yearning for freedom, love, life, and the expression of the Nature that adorns the Universe- the mysterious eternity of the Infinite.
Welkin Siskin
Washington, America
A)
I never got enough of it
From the deeds and the music that life beats,
But I got the gist and essence of it
To finally perpetually be led
With no parenthesis, but with eternity;
And to immortalize this being through art:
With the language of a common man,
With the art of the heart,
Harkened as the echoes of something worthwhile.
B)
Man is born to time his future against the tide
And he is to torment and foment by time in his life.
The time is sought and yet flies
The time does not die,
therefore in its life lies the fate of a man
To cross all the heaps of sand.
C)
The fragility of time is such that its hope of many natures is subdued.
There’s nothing much to praise
Of the transient time, yet an epic to read and luxuriate in it.
The malady of time is such that it
Does not let you become free,
or you cannot crawl through the slippery floors.
The time is harsh,
it’s a callous foe yet a sweet enemy.
D)
“The truth about life is, it is led— both by adversary or by warmth of feelings.
It is an endowed gift by which you make the most out of it and pass to the generation with a legacy of what’s good to embrace”.
E)
When one cannot make a blossom, one must try to make a thorn, entwine them as tendrils grow out of it. For human creation is evermore the experiences for humanity at large.
F)
Turn and tides of life lead you from misery to delight thus:
Eating you inside and making you grin through the teeth respectively; you are eaten, you are given time to luxuriate in by the femininity of it. The time is such that it gives you one grip of a gemstone and an exhale of beautifully passing breath, to never be return back.
G)
Does our life stand for truth,
And is its fulfillment means fruit
To achieve the fullest possible things
And it is—a dream—everything for our beings?
H)
The stars could one day die,
And the skyline that furthest lie
Could in nature’s behest dwindle
But the stories of our forbears be for all:
An ordeal of the disorderly, a faint-hearted tale
Gripped by sorrows and the story that failed
To remedy the cause of humanity:
That stood as no good neither as parity
Between the ruled and the ruler
That’s not banished in the minds of all.
I)
I’m poet and yet no mystic.
Off the fitter
Seeing the world through sixth sense,
I visualize the world as something of a kind
Searching to find the rationale between time and space, the immeasurable, the indomitable, the last absurdity— the call of time— of the moribund to the graveyard.
J)
There you and I find us,
In the borderline as polestars heralded
To take us into love-solitude.
Imagine this: that that place is a finer line crossed by the archangels,
multitude along the lines.
A lovely cathedral, a honk of goose
A featherless young nested in the leaves.
Those omens were partially good and partially playing false.
The twilight was glimpsing; a momentary flash
blushing, as if it was a dying planet seemed in the far west.
The dusk would not soak into the light and would not drawn into getting oblation.
There was nothing much to praise of the transient time.
You would hear the songs evolved in many meters, the dance that would trace footsteps of the soil.
The bundles of feelings,
Like the border encroached,
had crossed the demarcation lines.
There were way lot to talk about,
But the time dwindled, heart faded out, and love turned out to be good for another day: to be the best of morrow.