Ghost Call

Eternity was ours or so it seemed,

Never again will I have our dreams,

Hidden beneath your heartfelt words,

Are only truths I finally unfurled,

My love for you was one sided,

Even though I tried to deny it,

Live your life as you see fit,

No matter if you left me in the pit,

True I am bitter towards these days,

I clinge to all that we had made.

© VishalDutia

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Elusive

I am elusive
Transparent
Hard to find
Sometimes I disappear into the night
Sometimes I look like a ghost
A vapor barely there
I can be the light mist in the wind
Touching your cheek
I am invisible

I can be a shadow on the wall
A faint outline of a person
Almost disappearing
Almost not there
But there

I am elusive
Hard to pin down
Always moving to and fro
I am a phantom
I am the dream that is not real
That disappears when you wake
The butterfly you cannot keep
The sunset that leaves
A moment in time that passes

I am elusive
Never really there

©VishalDutia

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬

𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬
And shall the night fall
Upon all the reckless hearts
With somber hue
To sink in voids of unknown
howls of wolves awaken
The rusted moon
Silhouette of bent woods
Light up my conscience
Deep in shades of dark
Winds usher me to castle of terror
There beautiful ghosts regale
They haul me in a swift
We waltz ,stumble around the shrubbery
Giggle, tremble and blab on gubbins
Stories they spoke in gobbledegook
In between acumen of those kins
I forgot everything
For a moment,
I live like whole
And then they stir into clandestine
With no farewell yet a vow to meet again
As I slumber under an expanse of
pure white serenity.

©VishalDutia

Gore

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

Can A Ghost Love Again #Poetry

I found you,
my other half,
my future to last,
but you didn’t see me and gave me a cold shoulder,
like I was never there but a mirror,

standing on the other side,
reaching out to hold you tight,
heart barely beating,
dying slowly,

just a flickering light,
wandering in the dark,
asking a question to myself,

“can a ghost love again?”

TOILET GHOST POEM

When clocks strike twelve and trainings end

— lurk not, they say, in school at night.

Age–old stories tell of how there’re

things that throng in fluorescent light.

In toilets silence screeches loud,

for when school’s empty, they arise:

Ghosts of pregnant girls lie wailing,

with cleaner–uncle poltergeists.

For now I sit on chilling white,

resounding prayers in my mind;

my heart racing with dire wish

a friend of Casper’s I won’t find —

Then eeeeeeek!

Is that a door creaking?

Perhaps it stemmed from my own mind,

Hinges sing as they fly open!

Thou who entered, oh be my kind!

A thud thud thud as shoes traverse

across the glinting marble floor;

and louder,

louder as they get

much nearer to my sacred door!

THEN SILENCE

or so I wish!

But a loud knock takes my breath away.

The unlatched bolt lies there lazing

HOW’D I FORGET TO LOCK TODAY?

A hand thrusts in so hard and swift,

door’s open ‘fore I can react!

I’m facing now a girl my age,

She bawls at me with little tact —

Eyes bloodshot and tummy bloated,

“YOU DISGUSTING PIG! HOW DARE YE?!”

I dash out of the girls’ toilet

before she tries to castrate me.

 

From the Cave’s Mouth.. #Poetry

I heard the ghostly cannons roar
Beyond the world’s edge to the south;
Across the night black sea and shore
It echoed there behind, before,
Into a deep cave’s blackened mouth.

One caravan of ghosts displayed
Their ashen forms about the lea.
They shambled there, an odd parade,
Up toward the hillside’s sloping grade
Above that witch cursed haunted sea.

Tall harpies, iridescent, cold,
Would circle there around the lake. 
Their wings all edged in gleaming gold,
Most stealthily they there patrolled
Those waters and each reedy brake.

One sorceress now, whole, entire,
Rose from that fen in gems arrayed.
I marked her wan chest there suspire,
Her huge eyes raged with roaring fire,
As I would tremble sore afraid.

Now from that fen, out of the mire,
She rose on wings of burnished brass,
Up, up a pale and glowing gyre,
She rose the quicker, fiercer, higher,
To then alight upon the grass.

As kids we looked up.. #Poetry

As kids we looked up
lifted our chins
cricked our necks
dreamed of flying

from bedroom window
to Hobrow hill
with its antenna of leggy pines
atop its grassy bulge.

Time slips across my thoughts
like something in a rush
a sudden snow storm 
I turned my back on.

In this field 
we flew kites.
This gate sang
with a five barred shove

from the oldest boy
boy who led the way
through fox tunnel
to black burnt stubble

of unshaved ground
a working mans cheek
and all afternoon
you were asleep

saving up for a shift
while we left our shadows
among the creaky pines
and swaying fescue stems.

I picture us walking
our shadows merging then parting
until the light darkens
and we’ve walked too far.

But the past is a crowded place
where memories congregate
searching for their shadows
as if finding them 
would bring you back to life.

“Her soft trailing fingers would continue to attempt a connection that I refused to allow; that I couldn’t allow if I wanted to survive.” ― J.D. Stroube

“Her soft trailing fingers would continue to attempt a connection that I refused to allow; that I couldn’t allow if I wanted to survive.” ― J.D. Stroube