Forget Me: Poem

Forget Me

Now that yesterday's pages have been turned,
Rustling, fluttering,
Flown far away
Now that those people have gone, far away
Voices have faded and destiny with sure fingers
Has traced other routes, other paths
Forget me.

The years have traced lines on faces,
Has touched with grey dark hair;
But the souvenir of those far-off places
Are the memories that are left to share.

Often I had wondered, some paths I could not tread
If I dreamt; sometimes the voices were so real
More real than the people I passed on the street
More real to me than the cold, the blazing heat.
Forget me.
Now the year has passed onto spring.
The trees have won back their leaves.
Roses bloom; the rivers swell with rain
Forget me, I cannot bear to remain your eternal pain.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Wandering And Wondering: Poem

Wanderng And Wondering

Wandering from here to there and then there to there.
From being a being, thinking, feeling
A wanderer from here to there
From somewhere to anywhere.

The earth's dangers and daggers
Have often been planted
But the wanderer, from place to place
Has a heart that has been transplanted

With limbs that often can barely move
Tired, fatigued and hungering for love
Wandering, wondering, whatever and however
And trying not to feel too bad

Wandering and wondering,
Stumbling, befuddled, blundering
For reasons that are often fugitive
To live, to love, or to simply survive.

Copyright: Rani Turton

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

Consolation, In Doubt: Poem

CONSOLATION,  IN DOUBT   Consolation, in doubt Is all I want; all I want when I ask For reassurance today.   Apt are the times; the times are apt. In intense solitude The light shines.   The road is lit by lamps The moon has a halo The mind quietly ponders.   Consolation, in doubt, Comes when least expected. And then solitude smiles.   Copyright: Rani Turton