He's Older Now: Poem

He's Older Now

He's older now, his hair touched with grey;
I wander in these old streets everyday,
Memory-laden; I wonder who and why
Whomsoever deemed life should
Absolutely turn out this way.

He's older now; I hope and pray
He finally has found his destiny and his way;
Never like the others, never convention-prone,
His voice, like velvet caresses touched my senses
Knocked down all my fragile defenses


His thick dark hair, flying in the breeze
Seemed only to tease;
And when his eyes --
Ah! his eyes touched my skin
Smouldering fires burned within

He's older now, or so it seems
Wiser now, this  piece of my dreams;
Oft did I wonder if I should let him, once again
With sensitive fingers rekindle
This longing,  passionate regret.


Copyright: Rani Turton

None, Nowhere, Nothing: Poem

None, Nothing, Nowhere

None, nowhere, nothing
Can make me forget except
Complete extinction;
None, nowhere, nothing
Can make my heart sing,
My body's blood flow
In complete adequation
With beliefs, trust, life itself.

I scribbled a few lines today
For you, who read, and who holds my soul
And all it contains; and who may one day realise
That this verse was quite simply love in disguise.

Copyright (text and image): Rani Turton

Everyday, While We May: Poem

Everyday, While We May

To watch the trailing rose on stone walls
Dew on flowers, a resting bird on tree
To listen to the wind, feel the rain,
Everyday, while we may

The sun with it's golden beams
Warms the flesh yet alive
Stars that glisten and shine
Bread, that the soul may dine;
While we may.

While we may, blood and bone
Skin, touch, tears and pain;
Remind us that each and every cell
Lives, and then hears the knell.

Copyright: Rani Turton

This Emptiness Within: Poem

This Emptiness Within

This emptiness within, an utter stillness that could,
Would, should remain transfixed by eternity

Not a sunyatian stillness not the perfect void
A void, no, rather devoid
Not a perfect vacumn not even the space
To fill up a space that

Silences and stillness from analysis
Springs nought; not the naught but the knot
And the stillness and the silence in empty hearts
As far from perfection as existence
As far from existence as perfection
From where perfection springs
From the depth of the naughts

This emptiness within, then as still
As far from perfection's existence
As from perfecting existence

Transcends and permeates the fickle uneasy mind
Leaving mind and thought and emotion far, far behind.


Copyright 2008 Rani Turton