DREAM WORDS OF THE HEART

"Where the beauty of our senses is realised" by DINESH R MAKWANA

Olympian and Piccolo Man plus First 3 (5 Poems)

Lonely Road

When a decade is twice a try,
Where the forgotten are the many,

And those lonely sweat miles are few,
Where every steeple is a mountain,
And the fox of the few.

There is the ribbon of the mind,
Breaking hearts along the way,
Keeping calm along the play,
Where a game becomes a fortune.

The mind of the self changes into two,
Where one man's quest becomes that of two,
The silence of the run haunts in its whisper,
Where the other one clasps at any sins gesture.

Travelling through that empty mist of time,
Waiting for those two moments in a decade of time,
A hero in a mirror measures only one,
Where a nation mourns or adopts another son.

The other man counts his ounces again,
Playing a flute of stubborn and no scent,
The run man runs that spirit in chime,
The other man counts his ounces of time, of crime of expectancy sublime;

The seasons turn from skeleton to coat,
Where the run man wears the same simple but saffron cloth,
Where every bird sings that same song,
The run man runs time along.

Dinesh R Makwana

 

Protected by the Copyright Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

 

 

THE PICCOLO MAN

 

ď Say, say, say the Piccolo Man, have you gambled the lantern that gave you the glare? 

You canít touch the shine of the piano as you walk to the cold.

The Pianoforte canít afford the empty destitute hand of your hold,

Nor the whistle of the Piccolo destined to the dying, restless and the forlorn.

Say, say, say the Piccolo Man how can those notches, and spirals, those whistles, those noises feed anything or any man, Piccolo Man?Ē

 

ďI was born to a Mother just like any slave and to a Father just like the brave,

My blood is every good manís shoulders and embodies the honest of the five-fold wave.

Where my mitre and the scales of Justice that every Judge in the land honoured, where my ways fought cowardice and avarice and the poor manís vindicated borders.

 

The first in my Piccolo was born in Rome, from a farm that stood still decades alone,

The second whistle made much the same noise was from mansion where fairytales were told,

The third became my wife and calmed this damn line- with a first child of three, a child of two but she ran to a place they now call down-under and above all other,

But she loved her paper, my diamonds and her peppercorn wafer; with that sorry ripened old corn for the evergreen unbeknown.

The fourth, and the fifth and the sixth still remain unborn.

 

So remember that this clean manís whisker holds three stories told yet another twelve remain untold,

With my providence in icicles, and spices and your archetype despises,

Iíll walk reasoning alone to the death of the succinct and surreal cold,

Iíll play my Piano as my Piccolo and breathe an ardent in my tremulous cloth,

Iíll carry this piteous memory too of this story told and take umbrage; for in the scales of Justice nothing is ever left alone like Saharaís desperate fame,

Farewell my friend and call me my name, if ever you need the mitre, the sword, then know that Justice is my name and my gameĒ

 

Dinesh R Makwana

 

Protected by the Copyright Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

 

 

 

 


THE FIRST THREE POEMS

 

AQUO

 

              

 

An incessant, piercing, resonant echo graced the freedom of a landscape they called the lovers Utopia,

The hazardous edge an immediate second to an end of the heir, any heir, any kingdom, so innocent that a cloth of chintz could not beguile its landmark,

A connoisseur of three arts and a master of two, he gleaned at the lateen sail, at peace at a distance, a sinew to the mastery of the wave,

Congenial to the flames of the ocean - the purest tranquil blue at sunrise, and the beat of the tambour,

 

The war between two feuding families on two many nugatory and superfluous issues had taken every soldier much precious and endearing time,

If the this war ever came to the acrimonious hardship of war, how could any man cope when the lover, becomes the rival,

A dilemma born of ignorance and destined to the unbridgeable, unchallengeable, unceremonious rhetoric so few desire and most despise,

And yet that ominous fear could never subside with such fervour and stamina in each family so clear in the motive of their being and that of their citadel mission,

 

Pondering, and restless, and overcome with doubt, his despair the visionary nightmare,

He bridles himself and gathers the storm of protest, to reinvent individuality, immortal to thy own,

To play the destinyís highest tune, where the lovers love plays the trumpets sounding card,

Dictating generations a road, a journey, an escapade of virtue and feeling of humanity and embodiment,

Poignantly justifying to any other, each other, hand in hand, heart to heart, a Mosaic for a future and replenishing every seasonís beauty. 

 

Dinesh R Makwana (2004)

 

Protected by the Copyright Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

 

        

 

 

CAPTIVE PAIN

The Liberty landmark, the unyielding metaphor of all our humanity,within and out,

Its mountainous hand the resolve, the centre-piece and yet the falsification of the yesteryear neighbours,

It's a graveyard tombstone, rhetoric and a symbol of our peaceful quest,

I really was alone, in pain and remorse stood within every wall
and cavity and every vein that Mother Nature nurtured,

The flambeau sadness created by a chasm of an event, so huge, so sinister, so vile, so wrong, and all so corrupt,

The gaping wounds of the helpless thousands, a voice of the
forlorn, betrayed to a solace where every scream succumbed to the all-devouring death,

How could men, children escape such a disaster so callous and careless, so violent, so repulsive that no good man dare the thought,

I was numbed, horrified, petrified and alone.

No tear, no movement, no way and no blink too.

But the sky is a Mosaic of all fraud as the Liberty landmark
remained untouched,

My briefcase fell, and yet unheard and even the plutocrat died,

Lament turned to the cascading despair and even the unseen, relentless tears, so large that the Christmas mistletoe bled,

Where the Greek harpy and Roman too, reminded the harrowing truth of where Liberty stands.

Dinesh R Makwana

Protected by the Copyright Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988

          

SNOW DRIFTER

The cascading snow with the avalanche in the midst of its life taking furlong,

My watch for once had faltered in the envelope of a disaster to happen,

The hubris of the Alps, its meritocracy hard to visualize in all its beauty,

Now certain to take my life as my last torch and empty cries become so incongruous, discordant and cacophonous,

The poise of splendour and sharing the night before, the laughing, the disciplined chivalry, honesty and challenges of companionship all spurned for another lover lost,

How will she bear the news that a simple adventure was mastered by a small mountain bigger than the magnanimous soul?

With such splendour in the horizon and opposed to any malfeasance against her dream, her mentor, her vision of justice,

I guess her tears will turn to the warmth of another, an answer, another law seeker and also perpetual maker.

 

My thoughts and devouring isotonic energies turned to the problem and the decaying light of the floundering hope,

The ratio and chance depleting by the second and hiding real piety and justice of my being,

The reverent awe of service yet again belied by an event that feed the tabloid generations of bygone youth,

I decide to take the high-risk eighty-foot jump into the lower caverns and possible bloodied injury and possible immediate death.

 

My heart hesitates in the hope of the hovering sound, the welcoming siren of many dreams, of many friends and her dreams too with the loving morning symbol so easily unforgotten,

I check the stance, the angle of descent and find the strength for the hortatory and propel for my dreams mastery.

 

The skis are lost to the encapsulating branches, my mask bloodied at the edges and my legs bruised with the majestic evidence of history,

But I breathe and find the solace of a road, a journey for the next adventure into the mountains so few master and no-one ever regrets,

A journey of desolate hope and pioneering experience and adventure,

The dreams awakened again to all those that care.

 

Dinesh R Makwana (2003)

 

Protected by the Copyright Designs and Patents Act (CPDA) 1988